The squawk of seagulls punctuates
The quiet by the beach,
Yet the lack of other noises
Makes relaxing within reach.
The wail of sirens doesn’t let
The city quiet stay,
For even in the early morn
The noisiness holds sway.
The chirp of crickets syncopates
The rhythm of the night
So the quiet of the countryside
For dominance must fight.
A library or hospital,
Both recognized for quiet,
May hush incoming visitors
But I don’t really buy it.
For there are hums and whispers
Of machinery or voice
Which may pierce the silence and confirm
That quiet’s not a choice.
Maybe outer space is different
But on earth I will refute
Any claim that there’s a place to go
Where quiet’s absolute.
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