The House Beneath the Willow

The House Beneath the Willow

There is a house beneath the willow,

where time forgot to keep its word.

Its windows sigh with old secrets,

and the floorboards hum with memory.

I once lived there, or maybe dreamed it,

the walls breathing slow as sleep.

Every mirror held a question,

and every answer drifted away.

The garden is overgrown with whispers,

roots tangled like lost thoughts.

I still hear laughter in the leaves,

though no one has lived there in years.

If you ever pass that way, listen close,

the wind will tell you my name.

I am still there, beneath the willow,

waiting for someone to remember.

At night, the tree weeps silver rain,

its branches heavy with regret.

But when the dawn returns in quiet,

I forgive what I cannot forget.

So if the willow stirs at your passing,

and a voice hums low and hollow,

do not fear the call you hear,

it is only the heart that follows.