Beside the mossy stones I stray, Where crystal waters dance and play. A gentle breeze stirs pine trees tall, As twilight’s purple shades descend and fall. Two fishermen in straw cloaks meet, Exchanging tales of summer’s heat. They speak of plum rains soon to come, Of distant hills where pheasants drum. The brook flows on with endless grace, Carving its path through time and space. It knows the secrets mountains keep, While weary souls find solace deep. One casts his net with practiced hand, T...
