A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. The willow dips its leaves to touch the crystal flow, While distant mountains wear a crown of evening glow. A heron stands in silence where the water gleams, Watching moonlight weave its silver through the reeds and streams. The night breeze carries echoes of a poet’s song— How time and tide alike to beauty do belong. Yet dawn will come with misty breath and skies of rose, To wake the wo...
