A gentle stream flows through the quiet wood, Its murmuring voice a solace to the soul. The ancient trees in reverent stillness stood, While silver waters weave and gently roll. A wandering poet pauses by the shore, His heart reflected in the crystal flow. He’d journeyed far, yet still he longed for more— What truths might these clear waters come to know? The brook replied in liquid notes so clear: “Seek not in distant lands what lies so near.” The poet smiled, his restless spirit eased, And ...
