The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in hushed tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s shade, Where dreams and reality gently fade. An old man sits by the water’s edge, His thoughts as deep as the ancient hedge. He recalls a love from years gone by, Under the same vast, sapphire sky. The seasons turn, the leaves may fall, But the brook’s soft song transcends it all. It speaks of patience, peace, and grace, In this quiet, timeless place.
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in hushed tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s shade, Where dreams and reality gently fade. An old man sits by the water’s edge, His thoughts as deep as the ancient hedge. He recalls a love from years gone by, Under the same vast, sapphire sky. The seasons turn, the leaves may fall, But the brook’s soft song transcends it all. It speaks of patience, peace, and grace, In this quiet, timeless place.
