The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, whispering secrets to the ancient pines. Its clear waters reflect the silver moon, weaving tales of olden times. A lone heron stands still, dreaming of clouds and summer rains. The wind carries fragments of forgotten songs, blending with the murmur of the flowing night. All is quiet, yet full of stories waiting to be heard by those who pause to listen.
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, whispering secrets to the ancient pines. Its clear waters reflect the silver moon, weaving tales of olden times. A lone heron stands still, dreaming of clouds and summer rains. The wind carries fragments of forgotten songs, blending with the murmur of the flowing night. All is quiet, yet full of stories waiting to be heard by those who pause to listen.
