A gentle stream flows through the pine-clad hills, Murmuring secrets as the moon instills A silver glow on waters dark and deep, Where ancient stones their silent vigils keep. Two children once sat by its mossy brink, To hear the water’s stories, link by link— Of distant seas and mountains clad in snow, And dreams the current yearns to bestow. One followed the stream to worlds unknown and vast, While one stayed behind, holding memories fast. The brook flows on, through seasons and through yea...
