A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in hushed tones. Dragonflies dance on the water’s shimmering face, While willow branches sway with effortless grace. An old fisherman sits with his bamboo rod, Nodding to rhythms only his heart has trod. He knows every ripple and every fish’s dream, Where moonlight melts into a silver seam. Seasons change, but the brook’s song remains clear— A timeless flow that conquers doubt and fear. Carrying petals from...