A gentle stream flows through the pine-clad hills, Murmuring secrets only the moon fulfills. Its crystal waters dance in silver light, Guiding lost travelers through the silent night. Upon its bank, an elder willow stands, Weaving dreams with its gracefully drooping hands. Beneath its shade, two butterflies take flight, Chasing echoes of the fading daylight. The current carries petals from cherry trees, Riding rhythms of the mountain breeze. They swirl like thoughts too delicate to keep, Soft...
