A lonely willow tree stood by the lake, its branches swaying gently in the evening breeze. For years, it had witnessed the changing seasons and the passing of travelers. One autumn day, a young poet rested beneath its shade, feeling the tree's silent wisdom. He carved a single word—"remember"—into the bark before continuing his journey. Seasons turned, and the willow grew older, yet it held that small secret close. When the poet returned as an old man, he found the tree still standing, the word now faded but forever part of its story. In the quiet rustle of leaves, he heard a soft reply: "I always do."