A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Beneath the willow’s shade, where golden sunlight plays, A lonely traveler rests to count his passing days. He hears the water murmur secrets old and deep, Of promises the mountains once were sworn to keep. The breeze carries a fragrance of blossoms from afar, And paints the dusk with hues of evening’s silver star. Though roads may stretch beyond what eyes can ever see, The brook sings o...
