A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of ancient days in soft, hushed tones. The willow dips her branches low to catch the fleeting sound, While fireflies above the water weave their halos round. A traveler pauses on the bridge, his weary soul restored, By the water’s endless song—a freely offered word. He drinks not from the stream itself, but from the peace it brings, And carries in his heart the tune that through the valley rings. The moon now graces the dark ...
