A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind,

Its silver voice a balm to troubled mind.

It sings of journeys from the mountain high,

Where eagles dance against the sapphire sky.

It passed through valleys where the wildflowers bloom,

And brushed the willows, lifting winter's gloom.

It witnessed lovers' vows at twilight's hour,

And felt the strength of spring's renewing power.

Now slowing down where ancient cypress grow,

It mirrors stars that in its depths still glow.

This whispered flow, though bound for seas unknown,

Finds peace in every step the stream has known.