A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song the drowsy forest fills. It tells of journeys from the distant hills, And secrets that the ancient rocks believe. The moon above, a silent, watchful eye, Sees silver dance on currents dark and deep. While weary wanderers pause nearby to sleep, Lulled by the water’s constant lullaby. No mighty river, yet its strength prevails, Wearing down stone through patient, constant flow. In its clear depths, the starry heavens show— A ti...
