A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and ancient tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s trailing veil, While dragonflies on shimmering wings set sail. An old pine stands guard on the weathered hill, Watching seasons change with steadfast will. Petals fall like snow in the soft spring rain, Weaving dreams of joy and fleeting pain. Twilight descends with hues of gold and rose, As the evening breeze through the reedy marsh blows. The moon he...
