A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets in tones nature owns. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s shade, Where tales of old in liquid light are made. A traveler pauses by the water’s edge, To hear the wisdom flowing through the sedge. The brook speaks not of grandeur or of strife, But of the quiet, simple ways of life. It sings of sunlit days and moon-kissed nights, Of how the world finds balance in its sights. The journey long, yet calm its course remains, As it...
