A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of ancient days in soft, watery tones. The willow dips her branches low to catch the murmured rhyme, While sunbeams dance on ripples, keeping perfect time. A traveler rests upon the bank, his weary journey paused, To hear the water’s quiet song, by nature’s laws composed. It tells of mountains clad in mist, of rains that gently fell, And how the seasons come and go, a timeless, shifting spell. The brook flows on, both clear a...
