The River

It flows on, a soft silver ribbon, reflecting the sky, a mirror for our dreams. For those who wander, it guides their paths, carving earth with gentle hands, a companion to silent souls.

Can it hear the echoes of laughter, the weeping, the cries of children, under the gaze of the sun? Each ripple carries the tale of the world, a testament of time, pressing onward, into the welcoming embrace of the sea.

• Bertolt Brecht