A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song a balm to every care. It tells of ancient pines and twilight air, Of journeys to the sea it must achieve. The moon above, a silent, watchful friend, Casts silver patterns on the water's flow. This quiet truth the brook has come to know: That every start must find a destined end. Yet onward moves the water, clear and deep, Carving its path with patience, strong and sure. A timeless lesson, beautiful and ...

A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song a balm to every care. It tells of ancient pines and twilight air, Of journeys to the sea it must achieve. The moon above, a silent, watchful friend, Casts silver patterns on the water's flow. This quiet truth the brook has come to know: That every start must find a destined end. Yet onward moves the water, clear and deep, Carving its path with patience, strong and sure. A timeless lesson, beautiful and ...