The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind, Its silver voice a balm to troubled mind. It sings of journeys from the mountain’s height, Of star-reflected secrets in the night. The ancient pines lean close to hear its tale, While ferns and wildflowers nod along the vale. Though seasons change and frost may grip the land, Its steady flow fulfills what time has planned. This liquid thread that weaves through rock and loam Reminds each soul how perseverance finds its home.
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream through mossy stones does wind, Its silver voice a balm to troubled mind. It sings of journeys from the mountain’s height, Of star-reflected secrets in the night. The ancient pines lean close to hear its tale, While ferns and wildflowers nod along the vale. Though seasons change and frost may grip the land, Its steady flow fulfills what time has planned. This liquid thread that weaves through rock and loam Reminds each soul how perseverance finds its home.
