A lonely willow bends by the silent stream,

Its branches tracing patterns in a dream.

An old man rests beneath its gentle shade,

Recalling promises that time has swayed.

He waits for one who left when spring was new,

Beneath the moon’s soft light and morning dew.

The leaves still murmur tales of long-lost years,

Of joy, of parting, and of unshed tears.

Yet in the rustling wind, he hears a song—

A whispered truth that time is never gone.

For love remains where roots run deep and true,

Beneath the willow, steadfast through and through.