“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Saturday, January 31, 2015
The Silent Tree-ment
With our thunderous steps upon ground
perishing hallow
Let us linger for a quiet moment
over limb
Listen for its silent snap
muffled honeyed sap
Blankets of moss penetrate porous barks
patching poultice
This very today falls
branches in the woods
Seeds are sown
ideas gurgle and churn
The creatures take notice of our
sharp curiosity
In shadows and secrets
of fallen forests
The conductor waves his wand
all sounds obey.
Composed 1/31/15.
Image By Miaow Miaow (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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