The trees may not speak
In a voice we can hear,
But the willows, they weep,
Reaching down, bending near.
The water, it thrashes.
It tumbles and writhes.
It flits its eyelashes
At the amorous skies.
The sky cannot smile
Or smirk to the sea,
But a storm, in its violence,
Shows passion that be.
An earthquake, it brings
Neither hate nor despise,
But in its rumblings
Is a song of demise.
A gleaming star burns
Without thought, so it seems.
Yet for nothing it yearns
But to brighten young dreams.
And dreams, well they can speak
Loudest of all.
When the future is bleak
They say, "Answer the call."
And people, they talk
Over all of this sound.
They would much rather walk
Ears shut tight, looking down.
