A lonely willow bends by the silent stream, Its branches trace the water like a dream. An old man sits beneath its shade to rest, With memories of journeys east and west. He speaks of mountains clad in morning mist, Of distant shores by twilight amethyst. The willow listens, leaves begin to sigh, Weaving his tales into the wind’s reply. Years flow like water, stories take their flight, As day surrenders to embracing night. Yet in the hush, where light and shadow play, The willow keeps his whi...

A lonely willow bends by the silent stream, Its branches trace the water like a dream. An old man sits beneath its shade to rest, With memories of journeys east and west. He speaks of mountains clad in morning mist, Of distant shores by twilight amethyst. The willow listens, leaves begin to sigh, Weaving his tales into the wind’s reply. Years flow like water, stories take their flight, As day surrenders to embracing night. Yet in the hush, where light and shadow play, The willow keeps his whi...