A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and zones. Beneath the willow’s shade, a traveler rests, With dreams of journeys to the distant wests. The moon above casts silver on the wave, A silent witness to the bold and brave. Though paths may wind and seasons come and go, The brook’s soft song still comforts all below. Its waters clear, reflecting skies so wide, Carry the hopes that in our hearts reside. So listen close to what the currents say— Each ...
