G.R. Gaus (April 11 1950 / St. Louis)
Oh gentle breeze, whisper in my ear,
Your origin, I know not where,
In the dust, you suddenly appear,
Then rushing off, without a care.
Billowing clouds rise in the west,
Low rumble, echoing through me,
Beginning on, a long lonely quest,
Most beautiful, wild and free.
Forest filled with living things,
Hidden safely within its walls,
Each one hears as silence sings,
Her song, of reassurance, calls.
A spring appears beneath a stone,
From some deep darkened vein,
Secret source remains unbeknown,
Into a pool, becomes domain.
Mule Deer browse in quiet grace,
Stepping softly, glancing around,
Overlooking their visible space,
Aware of all, that makes a sound.
Silent sounds heard everywhere,
Few humans stop to listen,
Caught within the city's snare,
Never knowing what their missin.
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