The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming an ancient tune under the silver moonlight. Its watery fingers trace the roots of old willows, weaving tales of forgotten times. Two fireflies dance above the ripples, their glow painting fleeting constellations on the dark canvas of night. The wind carries whispers of poets who once lingered here, their verses now etched in the murmurs of the water. All sorrows seem to dissolve into this serene flow, as the brook continues its endles...
The Whispering Brook
A gentle stream meanders through the mossy stones, humming an ancient tune under the silver moonlight. Its watery fingers trace the roots of old willows, weaving tales of forgotten times. Two fireflies dance above the ripples, their glow painting fleeting constellations on the dark canvas of night. The wind carries whispers of poets who once lingered here, their verses now etched in the murmurs of the water. All sorrows seem to dissolve into this serene flow, as the brook continues its endles...
