A tale unfolds by the silent stream, where an ancient willow’s branches gleam. It’s said that on nights when the moon is low, its leaves share secrets of long ago. A young traveler once paused to rest, leaning against the bark with weary zest. The tree whispered of kingdoms past, of love that forever was meant to last. It spoke of courage, loss, and grace, tracing time’s flow on its weathered face. Now wanderers still stop to hear the wisdom carried on the breeze so near. For in its shade, bo...
