A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and tones. The willow dips its leaves to touch the clear, Reflecting skies that hold both far and near. A traveler paused to drink the cool, sweet grace, And saw his memories within that place— The joys, the sorrows, all the years had borne, Like ripples rising in the early morn. He smiled and knew that life, both dark and bright, Moves ever onward with the water’s light. And so he journeyed on with lighter he...
