A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of ancient winds and forgotten bones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s trailing veil, While dragonflies on sunbeams dance without fail. An old pine stands guard on the weathered hill, Its roots deep in memories, timeless and still. It recalls lovers’ vows exchanged at moon’s crest, And nightingales singing the world to rest. Seasons twirl by in a vibrant, endless reel— Petals fall softly, turning truth to feel. Yet the br...