A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. The willow dips her branches low to catch the fleeting sound, While distant hills in misty blue embrace the hallowed ground. A lone heron stands silent guard where water lilies float, Weaving dreams of silver light on currents that denote The endless journey to the sea, through valleys deep and wide— A timeless flow of memory where secrets safely hide. The moon will soon adorn the sce...
