A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the ancient pines receive. The moon, a pearl in twilight’s fading gleam, Reflects upon the water’s endless dream. A traveler pauses by the banks to hear The liquid notes that calm all doubt and fear. He recalls journeys through distant lands, Where mountains rise like giants’ claspéd hands. The brook flows on, a timeless, wise old friend, From hidden source to where all rivers end. It carries stories in its cool embrace— Of love...
