A gentle stream flows through the pine-clad hill, Its murmurs soft the evening air now fill. The moon above casts silver on the stone, Where weary travelers rest, no more alone. A tale is told of love from long ago, When spring blossoms would dance and rivers glow. Two hearts once met where willow branches swayed, In silent vows, their destiny was made. Yet time, unkind, did pull their worlds apart, But memories linger in the beating heart. The brook still whispers secrets, deep and clear, Of...
