A gentle stream through mossy stones does glide, No maps record its ever-changing course, It sings of journeys in its murmuring tide, And draws the soul with its unspoken force. The willow dips its leaves to taste the flow, Where minnows dart like shadows in the deep, It tells the secrets that the mountains know, To those who pause from worldly cares to keep. Though oceans vast may boast their mighty sway, This modest brook with humble grace proceeds, Its quiet strength will outlast empires’ ...
