A gentle stream through mossy stones did flow, Its murmuring voice a soft and constant friend. It sang of journeys through the fields below, Where weeping willows on its banks did bend. A traveler paused to hear its humble song, And in its notes, a ancient tale was found. Of seasons passed, both right and very wrong, And peace that comes from this unceasing sound. The water spoke not of the distant sea, But of the joy in every step it takes. It finds its purpose in the now, wild and free, And...

A gentle stream through mossy stones did flow, Its murmuring voice a soft and constant friend. It sang of journeys through the fields below, Where weeping willows on its banks did bend. A traveler paused to hear its humble song, And in its notes, a ancient tale was found. Of seasons passed, both right and very wrong, And peace that comes from this unceasing sound. The water spoke not of the distant sea, But of the joy in every step it takes. It finds its purpose in the now, wild and free, And...