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 crest, Of sunlit days and nights in quiet rest. The ancient pines upon its banks do lean, To hear the tales the crystal waters glean. A lone deer drinks where weeping willows sway, As twilight gently turns the bright day gray. This timeless flow, both humble and profound, Makes fleeting mortal cares seem small and bound. Its whispered wisdom, carried to the sea, S...
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 crest, Of sunlit days and nights in quiet rest. The ancient pines upon its banks do lean, To hear the tales the crystal waters glean. A lone deer drinks where weeping willows sway, As twilight gently turns the bright day gray. This timeless flow, both humble and profound, Makes fleeting mortal cares seem small and bound. Its whispered wisdom, carried to the sea, S...
