A tale unfolds by the ancient stream, where silver willows bend and dream. Their leaves like secrets softly sigh, beneath a vast and starlit sky. A traveler paused one moonlit night, enchanted by the spectral light. He heard the branches weave a rhyme, of love and loss from olden time. They spoke of spring’s first blush so fair, of winter’s breath upon the air. Of journeys taken, hearts held dear, through changing tide and turning year. The wind carried the melody, through rustling reeds and ...
