A lonely willow by the river bends, Its branches tracing stories without ends. A traveler paused beneath its shaded grace, And saw a tear roll down the ancient face. The wind blew soft, a murmur in the leaves, Of lovers’ vows and autumn’s golden sheaves. It told of seasons passing, swift and deep, And promises the moon could never keep. Yet in that shade, a hope began to grow— A seed of light the world had yet to know. The willow whispered, “Stay and rest awhile, For even sorrow walks the fin...
