Smooth soft surface

Of a quiet lake

Is reflecting the clouds of wondrous shapes.

The trees are too big and wide,

And no sun rays are

Able of warming the waters.

So quiet and peaceful,

No living soul around.

The trees are like guards

Keeping the enchanted forest

From outsiders.

Sad willow is at the shore,

Softly letting the thin flexible branches in the water,

Wrinkling the water.

One wrinkle after another,

Just like the sand of time

Is smoothly disappearing from sight

Among all others.

The willow is crying,

Not looking anywhere

Except for the water.

Every wrinkle on the lake is a passed year.

Passed and wasted year without the light.


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