A babbling brook flows through the forest deep, Where ancient trees their silent vigils keep. Its gentle voice a constant, soothing sound, On mossy stones it dances, lightly bound. A traveler paused to rest upon its shore, And felt the weight of weary days no more. He watched the water weave its silver thread, And thoughts of quiet peace filled up his head. The brook sang tales of mountains tall and grand, Of journeys through the untouched, wild land. It carried secrets from the melting snow,...
