A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. Silver fish dart like fleeting thoughts in the sun’s warm gleam, While willow branches dip low, as if lost in a dream. An old man sits on the bank, watching the waters flow, Remembering days of youth, now just an afterglow. The breeze carries echoes of laughter from years gone by, Beneath the vast and ever-changing sky. Seasons turn, leaves fall and bloom again in steady rhyme, Yet th...
