A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Beneath the willow’s shade, where fireflies gleam, Time slows to a halt, like a paused, silent stream. A traveler once paused to drink from its grace, And saw memories ripple on the water’s face. Of lovers who met where the wild roses grow, And promises made under moonlight’s soft glow. The brook flows on, through fields and weary nights, Carrying echoes of joys and lost delights. Yet in it...
