A tale unfolds by the silent stream, where an ancient willow’s branches gleam. It’s said that on nights when the moon is new, the tree shares secrets for a chosen few. A young poet once lingered near, burdened by doubt and fleeting fear. The willow stirred with a gentle sigh, and whispered words that reached the sky: *”Let your heart be ink, the world your page, Write your truth across every age. Not in shouts, but in ripples deep, Promises the quiet earth will keep.”* The poet wept, then smi...
