The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and ancient tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s graceful shade, Where dreams of spring and summer softly fade. An old man sits upon a weathered cedar log, Watching twilight dance within the evening fog. He recalls a love that bloomed like lotus flowers, Now guarded by these silent, timeless hours. The moon ascends with pearls of dew adorning, Greeting the night with gentle, silver warning. Yet still...
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times and ancient tones. Silver fish dart ‘neath the willow’s graceful shade, Where dreams of spring and summer softly fade. An old man sits upon a weathered cedar log, Watching twilight dance within the evening fog. He recalls a love that bloomed like lotus flowers, Now guarded by these silent, timeless hours. The moon ascends with pearls of dew adorning, Greeting the night with gentle, silver warning. Yet still...
