Where Silence is the Sound of Change
Things simplest sometimes say it best
that to the truth so well attest
like hallowed tint of verdant spring
to hope as song we have to sing
where hollowed hull of former nest
reminds the living richly blessed
of so much looming still to find
as former "homes" are left behind...
...each moment lost a moment found
on course, albeit homeward bound,
a path that offers no return
and where so often we discern
that things familiar seem so strange
where silence is the sound of change.
Portly Bard: Old man.
Prefers to craft with sole intent
of verse becoming complement...
...and by such homage being lent...
ideally also compliment.
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