A gentle stream through mossy stones does glide, Beneath the willow’s gracefully bowed shade, Where silver minnows in the sunbeams play, And dragonflies in dazzling hues array. An ancient oak, with branches stretching wide, Guards secrets that the waters have conveyed— Of travelers resting by its cooling tide, And dreams that in its gentle sounds were laid. No mighty roar nor frantic rush it knows, But patiently its destined path it paves, While carving valleys with its soft repose, And teach...
