A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the drowsy ferns believe. It tells of mountains where the eagles nest, Of cloud-kissed peaks in everlasting rest. A fallen leaf, a tiny golden boat, Upon its current lazily doth float. It carries dreams of journeys yet untold, In shades of amber, crimson, and of gold. The ancient pines stand watching from the height, They’ve known the moon and stars’ eternal light. They murmur back in voices low and deep, Guardians of secrets th...

A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the drowsy ferns believe. It tells of mountains where the eagles nest, Of cloud-kissed peaks in everlasting rest. A fallen leaf, a tiny golden boat, Upon its current lazily doth float. It carries dreams of journeys yet untold, In shades of amber, crimson, and of gold. The ancient pines stand watching from the height, They’ve known the moon and stars’ eternal light. They murmur back in voices low and deep, Guardians of secrets th...