FOR A LITTLE WHILE

Whispering,
the earth rattles somehow.
Lost, the voice dies
like unwatered grass.
A snail moves as
fast as it possibly can
delivering the news
about the dead voice, who
sang of snails, of
crickets, and lawns.
A small vigil was
held at night.
Four crickets
started to
sing in unison. Their
song was loud
and was echoed
by all those
present. Birds sang from the
trees, even the wind
chimed in. For a little
while the dead
voice mattered for
those singing in the lawn
and
from the surrounding trees
and plants. The snail moved slowly
in the darkness,
unbothered by predators, who
for a little while stopped
to respect the
voice that died.

Leave a Reply