A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. The willow dips her branches low to catch the murmurs clear, While dragonflies hover close, enchanted by what they hear. A traveler pauses on the path, weary from the sun, And finds the brook’s cool melody has just begun To weave a thread of peace into his burdened heart— A quiet, ancient magic, nature’s truest art. He sits awhile and listens, as the water laughs and gleams, And drift...
