A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. The willow dips her branches low to catch the murmurs clear, While dragonflies hover near. A traveler pauses by the bank, weary from the sun, To hear the water’s stories, one by one. It tells of mountain snows and passing rains, Of joy and sorrows, losses and gains. The breeze carries the whispers through the rustling reeds, Sowing ancient secrets like intangible seeds. And as the dus...