A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches sway with each breath it takes. An old man sits beneath its shade, Recalling choices he has made. He remembers youth, so bold and free, A world of hope and possibility. One path led left, one led right, He chose the road that felt most bright. Years have passed, the leaves now fall, Yet the tree still stands through it all. Its whispers carry on the breeze— A gentle song of memories. Not all was lost, not all was won, But peace arrives when day...
