A tale unfolds by the ancient stream, where silver willows bend and dream. Their leaves like brushes paint the sky, as gentle winds go whispering by. One special tree with branches low would share old secrets soft and slow. It told of lovers’ moonlit vows, of merchants’ deals and farmers’ plows. Children came to hear its lore, learning what the past had stored. Though seasons changed and years flew fast, the willow’s memories forever last. Now if you walk where rivers flow, listen close—you m...
