A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. Dragonflies dance on the sun-kissed ripples with grace, While ancient willow trees lean over to embrace. A lone heron stands still in the shallow, clear flow, Watching clouds like white ships in the blue heavens go. Seasons change, yet the brook’s song remains ever true— A timeless melody, both old and ever new. It speaks of journeys taken, of peace yet to find, A serene, flowing trea...
