A silver stream through mossy stones does glide, No map it follows, yet it knows the way. It tells old tales to ferns on either side, Of mountain snows that melted yesterday. It hums a tune the weary world forgets, A song of peace that only stillness hears. It never asks for glory or regrets, But flows through time, dissolving doubts and fears. A traveler paused to drink its crystal clear, And in its depths, saw his own life reflected. The water washed away a silent tear, And left his burden,...
