A lonely willow stands by the lake, its branches tracing verses on the water's surface. Each ripple tells a story—of moonlit nights, of whispered secrets carried by the wind. Travelers pause beneath its shade, hearing fragments of ancient songs in the rustling leaves. One evening, a scholar carved a poem into its bark, and since then, the tree hums with verses at dawn. Children believe its roots hold inkstones, and that fireflies are lost words seeking the page. The wi...