To see the sound

You hear, the conversations peppered

With sardonic retort about the human

Down below staring inanely into the trees,

The leaves segueing into mealtime and whispers

Of chirps, the delicious berries shared with

That greedy currawong calling, carolling,

Yodeling away like the morning maggies.

I follow your lead, to see the sound

As it moves, lives, breathes the bush,

Flurries the stream of chicks, coos

The  tempo of time

I try to see the music of the day, there down

In the garden, pen in hand, a quiet swish

The sound of writing




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