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—

Just peace within the brook’s soft, murmuring breast.

And in that moment, all the traveler’s fears

Are washed away by currents of the years.

He smiles, and knows that though his path may bend,

The brook’s wise song will guide him to the end.

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—

Just peace within the brook’s soft, murmuring breast.

And in that moment, all the traveler’s fears

Are washed away by currents of the years.

He smiles, and knows that though his path may bend,

The brook’s wise song will guide him to the end.