A lonely willow bends by the silent pond, Its branches tracing words upon the water. A traveler pauses, hearing ancient tales Of love and loss in every rustling leaf. He sits and dreams of seasons long since passed— The spring when blossoms fell like scattered verse, The winter’s frost that etched the world in white. The tree remembers what the world forgets. A breeze stirs ripples; syllables take flight. The pond holds stories in its dark embrace. The wanderer smiles, knowing he must go, But...

A lonely willow bends by the silent pond, Its branches tracing words upon the water. A traveler pauses, hearing ancient tales Of love and loss in every rustling leaf. He sits and dreams of seasons long since passed— The spring when blossoms fell like scattered verse, The winter’s frost that etched the world in white. The tree remembers what the world forgets. A breeze stirs ripples; syllables take flight. The pond holds stories in its dark embrace. The wanderer smiles, knowing he must go, But...