A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Beneath the willow’s shade, where golden sunlight plays, A lonely traveler rests to count his passing days. He hears the water murmur secrets old and deep, Of lovers’ vows the mountains once did keep. The breeze carries a fragrance of blossoms yet unseen, A silent promise of what might have been. Suddenly a fisher’s song echoes from afar, Breaking the stillness beneath the evening star. ...
