A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches sway with each breath they take. An old man sits beneath its shade, Recalling choices that he made. He remembers youth, so bold and free, A heart that chased the distant sea. But tides turned fast and years flew by, With silent dreams he let slip by. Now leaves murmur in the evening breeze, Carrying secrets through the trees. They speak of paths not walked or seen, Of lives that might have, could have been. Yet in the twilight, gold and deep, A...
