A brook is a place of transcendence, Where days grow over and days descend, It bubbles beyond the known and shown, With wild abandon, slipping asunder.
Softly, gently, its currents weave Through time’s own fabric, waist-high birches, Engaging each layer of stone and leaf, That dance and sing beneath the sun’s waltz.
It carries a weight of dreams and tricks, Of all who wander, all who seek; It lets them learn, it lets them play, Provides a thread of joy and speaks.
To rest beside its tender flow, Encased in trees and nature’s song, Is to grasp all the world’s great peace, And feel the heart of life so strong.
- Robert Frost