A stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets in tranquil tones. It tells of mountains clad in misty gray, And willow branches where the kingfishers play. A traveler pauses, hearing its gentle song, A melody where all past sorrows belong. He cups the water, cool and clear as glass, Watching moments like fallen leaves pass. The brook flows on, never asking why or how, Carving its path with a timeless vow— That every ending hides a quiet start, Flowing forever in nature’s heart.
