A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones,

Whispering tales of forgotten times and ancient tones.

The willow dips her branches in the crystal flow,

Where silver minnows dart and water lilies grow.

A traveler rests upon the bank, weary and alone,

Hearing the brook’s soft murmur like a soothing poem.

It speaks of mountain snowmelt and summer’s warm rain,

Of joy that follows sorrow, of peace that follows pain.

The water never pauses in its journey to the sea,

Yet in this quiet moment, it shares its grace with me.

Carrying dreams and memories to where the rivers meet,

The brook flows on with wisdom, both gentle and complete.