Beside the mossy stones I stray, Where silver waters dance and play. A gentle breeze whispers through the pine, Weaving tales of forgotten time. Two sparrows dip their wings in flight, Chasing sunbeams warm and bright. The ancient willow leans to hear, The brook’s soft song, serene and clear. Perhaps it sings of lovers’ vows, Or crowns of flowers on royal brows. Of mountain snows that melt and flow, To quench the thirst of fields below. Its melody, a timeless rhyme, Echoes through the canyon ...

Beside the mossy stones I stray, Where silver waters dance and play. A gentle breeze whispers through the pine, Weaving tales of forgotten time. Two sparrows dip their wings in flight, Chasing sunbeams warm and bright. The ancient willow leans to hear, The brook’s soft song, serene and clear. Perhaps it sings of lovers’ vows, Or crowns of flowers on royal brows. Of mountain snows that melt and flow, To quench the thirst of fields below. Its melody, a timeless rhyme, Echoes through the canyon ...