A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind, Its murmuring song a balm to troubled mind. It carves its path where ancient willows weep, And secrets to the thirsty roots does keep. Two lovers once by this same stream did meet, Their promises made soft and bittersweet. The water heard their vows of endless grace, Then watched them go to find their separate space. Now decades on, a silver-haired man stands, And traces names with frail and trembling hands. The brook still flows, the same low s...
