A gentle stream flows through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and ones. It babbles softly under the moon’s pale light, Weaving dreams into the silent night. Along its banks, the willow trees bend low, Their leaves like tears for secrets they bestow. A traveler pauses, hearing ancient rhymes, Echoing from distant, misty climes. The water sings of joy and fleeting sorrow, Promising a brighter new tomorrow. Yet in its song, a melancholy tune— A memory of love beneath the Ju...
