A gentle stream flows through the pine-clad hills, Its murmurs soft as twilight’s fading light. It tells of journeys from the distant rills, And secrets whispered in the still of night. The moon above casts silver on its face, While fireflies dance along the mossy stones. This ancient water knows both time and space, And hums a tune that soothes the weary bones. Though seasons change and years may come and go, The brook’s sweet song remains—a timeless friend. It teaches us how quietly to flow...
