A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song the weary soul relieves. It tells of mountains where the eagles soar, And secret valleys loved by sun no more. It speaks of rain that fell on ancient days, And now through shaded woodland finds its ways. The water dances in the dappled light, A liquid silver, endlessly bright. It hums a tune that only stillness hears, And washes clean the weight of passing years. So come and rest upon its grassy bank, And let the quiet flow f...
