A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets to the listening pines. Its silver waters, kissed by twilight’s glow, Weave tales of ancient days in soft-spoken lines. A lone heron stands guard where willows weep, Watching the moon rise over misty hills. The world grows still as stars begin to sleep, And silence wraps the valley in its thrills. Yet in the quiet, wisdom flows unseen— The timeless journey of a stream’s low song, Reminding all who pause by its serene Green b...
