A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and zones. It carries secrets from the mountain’s crest, And lulls the weary world to peaceful rest. Beneath the willow trees, two friends once sat, Sharing dreams beneath an old straw hat. They vowed to meet when autumn leaves turned gold, A promise made in stories yet untold. Now years have passed, the brook still softly sings, Of timeless hope that every new day brings.
