A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets to the listening pines. Silver fish dart beneath the water's glass, While dragonflies trace circles in the air. An old willow dips its branches low, Brushing the surface with a tender grace. The moon begins her climb above the hill, Casting the world in soft, blue-tinted light. Here, time itself seems slow and deep, A timeless verse the mountains keep.

A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets to the listening pines. Silver fish dart beneath the water's glass, While dragonflies trace circles in the air. An old willow dips its branches low, Brushing the surface with a tender grace. The moon begins her climb above the hill, Casting the world in soft, blue-tinted light. Here, time itself seems slow and deep, A timeless verse the mountains keep.