If an aire were to move through these summer-laden limbs, what lyrics would the dancing leaves whisper, one to another?
Would the groundling grasses, wrestling for every spot of turf and light, raise their green crowns higher
if there was more to hear than the off-key singing of insect wings.
Does the river know songs that it cannot sing because it forgets the words when it gets this calm?
(Text, May 1996, © 2005 M. Childers)