A lone willow bends by the silent river,

Its branches tracing secrets on the water’s glass.

An old fisherman sits with his silver net,

Humming a tune from a forgotten past.

Moonlight spills like liquid pearl through the leaves,

Casting patterns on the mossy stones below.

He remembers a promise made in spring,

A voice softer than the evening breeze.

Years have flowed like the endless stream,

Yet the willow remains, keeper of dreams.

Its whispers carry tales of joy and sorrow,

Blending yesterday with tomorrow.

Now the stars blink awake in the indigo sky,

As the fisherman gathers his catch with a sigh.

The willow sways—a gentle, knowing nod—

Rooted in earth, yet touching the heart of god.

A lone willow bends by the silent river,

Its branches tracing secrets on the water’s glass.

An old fisherman sits with his silver net,

Humming a tune from a forgotten past.

Moonlight spills like liquid pearl through the leaves,

Casting patterns on the mossy stones below.

He remembers a promise made in spring,

A voice softer than the evening breeze.

Years have flowed like the endless stream,

Yet the willow remains, keeper of dreams.

Its whispers carry tales of joy and sorrow,

Blending yesterday with tomorrow.

Now the stars blink awake in the indigo sky,

As the fisherman gathers his catch with a sigh.

The willow sways—a gentle, knowing nod—

Rooted in earth, yet touching the heart of god.