The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets in a tongue only the forest owns. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s trailing veil, While dragonflies on shimmering wings recount their tale. An old pine watches, its branches etched with time, Witness to rhythms of nature, sublime. Petals fall softly where the wild roses bloom, Painting the banks with transient perfume. Twilight descends with a chorus of frogs and dew, Whispering, “All is renewed.”
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Murmuring secrets in a tongue only the forest owns. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s trailing veil, While dragonflies on shimmering wings recount their tale. An old pine watches, its branches etched with time, Witness to rhythms of nature, sublime. Petals fall softly where the wild roses bloom, Painting the banks with transient perfume. Twilight descends with a chorus of frogs and dew, Whispering, “All is renewed.”
