A lonely willow bends by the silent stream, Its branches tracing patterns in the moon’s faint gleam. It whispers tales of lovers’ vows, And crowns of leaves on youthful brows. A traveler once rested in its shade, With memories of choices he had made. The rustling leaves seemed to reply, “Even the deepest sorrows soon pass by.” Now children laugh beneath its boughs so deep, While ancient roots their secrets keep. The willow stands through time’s slow flow— Both witness to and part of life’s gr...
