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 their shaded branches lean, To trace the patterns where the waters gleam. A deer descends to drink with cautious grace, Her mirrored image in the cool embrace. So flows this timeless, ever-changing song— Where peace and stillness to the heart belong.
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 their shaded branches lean, To trace the patterns where the waters gleam. A deer descends to drink with cautious grace, Her mirrored image in the cool embrace. So flows this timeless, ever-changing song— Where peace and stillness to the heart belong.
