A gentle stream through mossy stones did flow, Beneath the willow’s shade where wildflowers grow. It murmured secrets to the listening earth, Of spring’s rebirth and winter’s silent dearth. A traveler paused to hear its liquid song, And in its rhythm, found where he belonged. The water spoke of journeys yet untold, Of courage needed, and of hearts made bold. He drank deeply from its cool, clear grace, And saw his own reflection in that place. Not just a face, but possibilities, Carried forwar...