A solitary willow stands by the silent pond, Its branches tracing verses on the water’s glass. Moonlight weaves through leaves like silver thread, Whispering tales of autumn’s gentle passing. Two crickets converse in the dewy grass— One speaks of distant mountains touched by dawn, The other recalls the fragrance of summer rain. Their dialogue becomes a timeless song, Echoing under constellations’ patient gaze. A child once napped beneath these very boughs, Dreaming of paper boats sailing on m...