A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind, Its silver voice a balm to troubled mind. It sings of journeys from the mountain high, Where eagles dance against the endless sky. It passed through valleys where the wildflowers bloom, And brushed the willows with its liquid gloom. It saw the moon upon its surface gleam, A shattered mirror in a watery dream. Now in this forest, calm and deeply green, It shares the wisdom it has heard and seen: “The greatest truths are carried not in roar, But i...
