A gentle stream through mossy stones did flow,

Beneath the willows where the wildflowers grow.

It whispered tales of journeys to the sea,

Of mountains high and clouds that dance so free.

A child once paused to hear its liquid song,

And carried its sweet melody along.

The brook’s soft voice within her heart remained,

Through summer sun and winter’s gentle rain.

Now grown, she finds where quiet waters run,

And remembers how her wonder first begun.

The stream still flows with timeless, tranquil grace—

A mirror to the soul’s own peaceful space.

A gentle stream through mossy stones did flow,

Beneath the willows where the wildflowers grow.

It whispered tales of journeys to the sea,

Of mountains high and clouds that dance so free.

A child once paused to hear its liquid song,

And carried its sweet melody along.

The brook’s soft voice within her heart remained,

Through summer sun and winter’s gentle rain.

Now grown, she finds where quiet waters run,

And remembers how her wonder first begun.

The stream still flows with timeless, tranquil grace—

A mirror to the soul’s own peaceful space.