A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the ancient pines receive. It tells of mountains clad in misty blue, And morning dew that tastes of fresh bamboo. Two fishermen with lines of silken thread, Seek golden scales beneath the sun’s warm spread. They care not for the world’s relentless chase, But find their peace in this secluded place. The water flows where timeless legends sleep, Through valleys deep its quiet secrets keep. One drop contains the moon’s reflected gr...
