A gentle stream through mossy stones did stray, Whispering tales of seasons passed away. It sang of blossoms in the April rain, And winter’s frost upon the window pane. A traveler paused to hear its murmuring flow, And glimpsed the dreams it carried soft and slow— Of distant mountains touched by morning’s gold, And timeless stories in its waters told. The brook flowed on, its song both old and new, A liquid thread of silver in the blue, Reminding all who paused to understand: Peace dwells whe...
