A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and ancient tones. The willow dips its branches in the crystal flow, Where dreams of silver minnows dance and glow. A traveler paused to hear the water’s soft refrain, It spoke of joy and sorrow, sunshine and of rain. It sang of mountains high and valleys deep and green, Of all the hidden wonders it had heard and seen. The breeze carried the melody through the silent wood, A simple, liquid language always u...