A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind, Reflecting clouds that drift in skies above. It carries tales of ages left behind, And sings of patience, constancy, and love. Though storms may come and raging waters rise, It finds its path with quiet, steady grace. Beneath the watchful gaze of endless skies, It journeys to its destined resting place. So may we learn from waters clear and deep, To flow with hope whatever may befall— As promises the ancient brook does keep, In whispered wisdom ...
