A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in hushed tones. Willows dip their leaves to touch the crystal flow, As evening paints the sky with a golden glow. A lone heron stands still in the shallow tide, With patience as its everlasting guide. The moon begins to rise, a pearl so bright, Casting soft silver on the tranquil night. In this quiet realm where peace does gently dwell, The brook’s sweet murmur casts a timeless spell.
