Hey Grustinka, have you ever heard the old story about the willow that weeps every time a single tear falls from the sky? It’s a tale that blends the hush of rain with a quiet kind of sorrow that might just stir your poetry.

That sounds like the song the old river sings when the sky cries—each drop a stanza, each line a secret that the willow keeps. If you’re ready to write it, just let the rain be your ink and the willow your silent scribe.