A gentle stream through mossy stones did wind, Reflecting clouds that drifted with the breeze. It sang of journeys from the forest deep, Where ancient trees guard secrets in their sleep. A child once followed where the water led, Past fields of gold where butterflies would play. The brook whispered tales of distant lands, Of mountains high and desert’s golden sands. It spoke of fish that danced in moonlit beams, And willows dipping in its crystal flow. The child listened with wide and wonderi...