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 sunset’s crimson vest. A leaf descends, a tiny amber boat, On liquid glass it silently doth float. It carries secrets from the ancient wood, Where fairies dance when moonlight’s understood. The water sighs a lullaby so deep, That rocks and roots their guarded memories keep. It flows past villages where children play, Then meets the ri...
