A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming an ancient tune under the moon’s soft glow. Its waters weave tales of forgotten times—of poets who lingered by its banks, leaving verses tangled in the reeds. One night, a lone traveler paused to drink from its cool clarity. In the ripples, he saw not his own reflection, but glimpses of dreams he’d long abandoned. The brook whispered, “Flowing water never returns, yet it nourishes all it touches.” Moved, the traveler carved no words o...
