A babbling brook flows through the mossy glen, Its gentle voice a balm to weary men. It tells of ancient stones and sun-drenched days, Of rustling leaves in autumn’s golden haze. A traveler paused to drink its crystal tide, And in its depths, his own reflection spied. He saw the years like passing clouds above, And found a moment’s peace, and felt love. The water murmured secrets soft and deep, As onward to the sea it vowed to sweep. He rose renewed, with lighter heart and soul, Letting the c...
