A babbling brook through mossy stones did flow, Beneath the dappled light where willows grow. It whispered tales of ages long since passed, Of lovers’ vows and shadows it had cast. A traveler paused to drink its crystal clear, And in its murmur, felt a presence near. Not ghost nor spirit, but the earth’s own breath, That speaks of life and time that conquers death. He cupped the water, cool against his skin, And felt old sorrows melt away within. The brook sang on of mountains yet unseen, And...
