Baskadia

Amidst the twilight's gentle hue,

Beneath the crescent moon's soft glow,

A willow weeps beside the stream,

Where dreams and whispers softly flow.

Its branches sway like silken threads,

Caressing zephyrs as they pass,

In nature's arms, a dance it weds,

A mesmerizing, graceful mass.

A guardian to the secrets told,

By lovers' hearts, in shadows' embrace,

It listens to the young and old,

And cradles memories in its space.

Through seasons' change, it stands its ground,

In winter's chill and summer's heat,

Its roots, a labyrinth profound,

In unity, they find retreat.

A sanctuary for the soul,

A solace found in tearful eyes,

Where wounded spirits find console,

Beneath the willow's lullabies.

In moonlit nights and sunlit days,

It teaches us to bend, not break,

To weather storms in tranquil ways,

And from life's trials, strength to take.

So, as you pass the willow by,

Pause a moment, hear its song,

Let whispers brush your heart nearby,

And feel where nature does belong.