A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and ancient tones. Silver fish dart 'neath the willow's trailing veil, While dragonflies on sunbeams gracefully sail. An old pine stands guard on the weathered hill, Watching seasons change with steadfast will. Petals fall like pink rain in the spring's soft embrace, Each carries a memory time cannot erase. Beneath the moon, the waters gleam so bright, Painting liquid silver through t...