The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. The willow trees bend low to hear the ancient rhyme, As golden sunlight filters through, ignoring haste or crime. A traveler pauses by the bank, weary from the road, And finds a peace within the sound that lightens every load. The water sings of mountains high and journeys to the sea, A timeless flow that knows both joy and tragedy. In every bubble, stories float—of love, of loss, of ...
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, Whispering tales of forgotten times in soft, watery tones. The willow trees bend low to hear the ancient rhyme, As golden sunlight filters through, ignoring haste or crime. A traveler pauses by the bank, weary from the road, And finds a peace within the sound that lightens every load. The water sings of mountains high and journeys to the sea, A timeless flow that knows both joy and tragedy. In every bubble, stories float—of love, of loss, of ...
