A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind, Its silver song a balm to weary mind. It speaks of mountains where the eagles stray, And shadows lengthen at the close of day. It carries tales of blossoms on its tide, Where secrets of the ancient woods abide. Though small its voice, it bravely finds its way, To join the river’s broader, brighter sway. So too the heart, with quiet courage deep, Through unknown paths its destined course must keep.
