A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its murmuring song a balm to all who hear. The ancient pines stand watch on either side, Their branches tracing patterns in the clear, Cool air that carries tales from far and wide. A traveler pauses by the water’s edge, His weary soul refreshed by nature’s grace. He sees the minnows dart beneath a ledge, And sunlight dance upon the water’s face. The brook flows on, as it has always done, A timeless thread of silver in the green, Connecting eve...
