A gentle stream through mossy stones does weave, Its silver song the drowsy ferns believe. It tells of mountains where the eagles nest, Of morning dew on petals softly pressed. A lonely traveler pauses by its side, To hear the tales its flowing waters hide. It sings of time that passes like a dream, And moonlight dancing on a silent gleam. The brook flows on, to join the distant sea, A timeless journey toward eternity. The wanderer stands, his weary soul restored, By whispered wisdom from the...
