A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and zones. It carries dreams of flowers, sun, and rain, And softly sings a sweet, enduring strain. Upon its banks, the willow trees lean low, As if to hear the secrets it might know. The moon above reflects its silver light, Guiding the brook through the silent night. So flows our lives, like water to the sea, A timeless journey toward eternity.
