Hush, be still, quiet and secluded like my heart
Peaceful, calm, aloof, now discern another part,
Hear all the moving noise of early light
Enticing man to conjure thoughts beyond his sight.
There’s a train rushing by, its journey delayed
By the curve of the track and the slope of the glade,
The steady rotor’s drone of planes crisscrossing sky
Intrudes on wistful silence which with night must die.
The air’s filled to the bursting with jubilant song,
Though I can’t see scant one of these where’er they throng.
Unnumbered birds, caterwauling loudly overhead,
Just stirring, constant, seeming brimmed with life instead.
The rustling of the trees alive with phantoms small,
Like neighbors, blatant, gossiping o’er backyard wall.
I find my ears now heavy with the roaring sound
And long to sight these creatures while they leap and bound.
Who knows of such a vivid place as waking days
Alive, with all the movement that the world displays,
Vibrant with all that pulsing power time believes?
Listen and you will hear the growing of the leaves!
Claire V. Bogdanos 