A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring tales of ancient days in soft, watery tones. It flows past pines that stand like silent, watchful guards, Beneath the silver gaze of moon and twinkling stars. A heron dips its beak to drink the crystal tide, While fireflies dance on banks where dreams and secrets hide. The breeze carries a song—a lullaby so deep, That lulls the weary world into a restful sleep. Yet in its ceaseless flow, a wisdom lingers clear: “Time moves like wate...
