Over the crest, where whispers dwell
A river of dreams echoes, weaving tales.
Threads of silk spun, not by hands,
But by the unseen loom of time.
Do the rivers remember, the paths they forsake?
Winding mirrors of fate's intricate dance.
With each drop a world begins,
To rise and fall under the stars' gentle breath.
Enter the stream; find solace in motion,
Where choice is wrapped in liquid grace.
Find your echo in the endless flow,
And let the river write your name.