A lonely willow stands by the lake, Its branches trembling with each breath they take. A traveler rests beneath its shade, Hearing tales the rustling leaves have made. Of lovers’ vows in moonlight sealed, Of harvests grown and battles healed. The wind composes ancient verse— A symphony of joy and hurt. Seasons turn, the roots hold fast, Whispering truths that forever last. Not all who wander need a home, Some find peace where willows roam.
