A tale unfolds by the silver 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 heart that’s true. A young poet once lingered near, burdened by doubt and silent fear. The willow stirred with a gentle sigh, and whispered words that reached the sky: “Let your verses flow like the river’s grace, and time itself will find their place.” From that night on, his pen took flight, weaving stanzas in the soft moonlight. The wor...
