I Hear Voices
I hear voices
high in the trees,
trilling from the shrubs
and on the breeze.
I hear voices
high in the sky,
that grow and fade
and finally die.
A non-conducted chorus,
yet oh so sweet,
from a raucous warbling,
to a static tweet.
There’s a whistling pitch,
or a cackling cry -
I hear these voices
as I stroll on by.
I hear voices
that defeat my stress,
help me understand,
what matters less.
I hear voices,
that are sweet to hear,
with natures melodies,
pleasing to my ear.
Not a truck or a car;
not a bustling bar.
There’s no smog hidden star,
and no concrete or tar.
This here is their paradise;
no one hustles; no one lies,
for one to live, one often dies,
and all around me flies.
Where I hear voices
high in the trees,
trilling from the shrubs
and on the breeze.
I’m their audience,
with a host of choices,
when I amble by,
and I hear their voices.
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