The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s shade, Where dreams and reality gently fade. An old oak stands guard on the hill above, Keeper of secrets, holder of love. Its leaves rustle poems in the evening breeze, Carrying memories through centuries. Two butterflies dance in the golden light, Painting the air with colors bright. They chase the sun’s declining rays, Through the haze of summer...
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s shade, Where dreams and reality gently fade. An old oak stands guard on the hill above, Keeper of secrets, holder of love. Its leaves rustle poems in the evening breeze, Carrying memories through centuries. Two butterflies dance in the golden light, Painting the air with colors bright. They chase the sun’s declining rays, Through the haze of summer...
