A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Beneath the willow’s shade, where fireflies gleam, Time slows to a still, silent stream. A traveler pauses, hearing echoes of old, Of lovers’ promises and legends bold. The water murmurs secrets, deep and clear, Of joys and sorrows held so dear. Yet as the moon rises, casting silver light, The brook sings on through the tranquil night. Its song reminds us—though moments flee, Beauty lives i...
