by Brianna G. Harte
Leaning against the light post,
Gazing across the golden sidewalk
Glittering in a quiet night
Where hardly a wind blows,
I sing softly, gently,
So that no one can hear me but me.
A beautiful serenity blooms
As words flow forward
While hidden from the world.
With only the black squirrels
Moving, scrambling, witnessing,
Inner tranquility becomes a flower,
One to open in the shadows
That burst forth with no judgment
Of a beauty or horror
Expressed for the flora itself.
So quietly will the song be breathed
That even companions have not heard
A tune break the silence,
The song of a happy bird.
Copyright © 2016 Brianna G. Harte. All rights reserved.