It’s hard to get used to quiet
When the city is your base,
To focus on the tiny sounds
So easy to embrace -
The swishing of a wind sock’s tails,
The rustling of leaves,
The chirping cadence of the birds,
A quiet that deceives.
For nowhere’s really silent,
But depending on your space,
The country’s noise is subtle
While the city’s in your face.
No comments:
Post a Comment