A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Beneath the willow’s shade, a traveler rests, With weary heart and longing in his chest. The water sings of mountains clad in mist, Of golden sunsets by the clouds half-kissed. It tells of love that bloomed and faded fast, Like shadows by the midday sunlight cast. A deer approaches, silent and serene, To drink the silver water, cool and clean. The world grows still—no sorrow, no unrest— Jus...
