A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in hushed tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s shade, Where dreams and ancient memories are made. A traveler paused to drink its crystal clear flow, And heard the water’s soft, enchanting glow. It sang of mountains high and valleys deep, Of promises the earth forever keeps. The sun dipped low in hues of gold and red, As the brook’s timeless wisdom softly said: “Though seasons change and years may fly...
