A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the drowsy willows please. It tells of mountains where the eagles soar, Of secret valleys kissed by gentle rains. Two children pause their game to hear its tale, A boy who dreams of oceans yet unseen, A girl who counts the petals on the breeze. The water shows them minnows like quick shadows, Reflects their wonder in its liquid glass. The brook flows onward to a sleeping town, Where an old man fills his wooden pail. He smiles, r...
