Cascading down the cliffs, Water dances in sunlight, A cascade of laughter, Tumbling fiercely into dreams.

Each droplet a messenger, Bearing tales from the mountains, Where ancient spirits linger, Woven into the rocks and roots.

In this pure essence of flow, Time is merely a whisper, And the soul finds solace, In the echo of nature’s call.

With open hearts, we stand, Beneath the breath of the earth, And in reflections of the stream, We see the depths of ourselves.

• Ettore Cozzani