A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. The willow dips her branches low to catch the fleeting sound, While dragonflies in iridescent hues dance all around. An old man sits upon the bank, his fishing line cast still, Content to watch the world go by, surrendering to its will. The sun begins its slow descent in hues of gold and red, Painting silent promises of dreams that lie ahead. The evening star then blinks awake, a beac...
