A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s trailing veil, While the breeze carries a melancholic tale. An old man sits on a weathered wooden bench, His memories flowing like a timeless quench. He speaks of love that bloomed in spring’s warm light, And vanished like a kite taking endless flight. The sun dips low, painting the sky in gold, A story of beauty and courage once told. The brook conti...

A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s trailing veil, While the breeze carries a melancholic tale. An old man sits on a weathered wooden bench, His memories flowing like a timeless quench. He speaks of love that bloomed in spring’s warm light, And vanished like a kite taking endless flight. The sun dips low, painting the sky in gold, A story of beauty and courage once told. The brook conti...