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 murmur secrets of long ago. A young traveler once paused to rest, hearing the tree’s soft words manifest. They spoke of love, of loss, and grace, of time’s unyielding, swift embrace. He listened close with heart laid bare, and found a wisdom lingering there. Now others come, when dusk descends deep, to hear the willow’s promises keep. In every rustle, truths...
