A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in watery tones. Dragonflies dance on sunbeams above its silver thread, While ancient willow trees bow down their weary head. A fisher boy once lingered by this liquid glass, Watching crimson leaves like memories slowly pass. He dreamed of oceans vast where silver dolphins play, Yet found the brook’s soft song could steal his heart away. Seasons turned their pages—winter frost, spring’s bright hue, But the ...
