A tale unfolds by the ancient stream, where silver willows bend and dream. Their leaves like brushes paint the sky, as gentle winds go sighing by. One branch that dipped too low one day, caught a sunbeam gone astray. It whispered secrets old and deep, to roots that never fell asleep. The stream then carried forth the song, of how the weak can become strong. For in that bend, a truth took hold—that grace is found when we unfold. Now travelers pause to hear the tree, whose wisdom flows both wil...
