The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Under the silver moon, the willow branches sway, Dancing with the fireflies that light the night’s way. An old fisherman sits by the bank, lines cast, Humming melodies from a memory that will last. He speaks of mountains high and oceans deep, Of promises the winds have sworn to keep. The stars above blink in quiet delight, Painting the darkness with shimmering light. In this serene night...
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten dreams and ancient tones. Under the silver moon, the willow branches sway, Dancing with the fireflies that light the night’s way. An old fisherman sits by the bank, lines cast, Humming melodies from a memory that will last. He speaks of mountains high and oceans deep, Of promises the winds have sworn to keep. The stars above blink in quiet delight, Painting the darkness with shimmering light. In this serene night...
