Unsung, Unheard
Listen to poem:
Bemoan the songs unsung for want of melody and tongue.
Bewail the sorrows unlamented and veiled, for want of a good sob.
Waffling silent tunes echoing and rattling in the cage, trapped unexpressed.
We humans can only hear the flaps and rustles of the unsung,
which roost like bats inverted, upended in trees unheard, cloaked, silent.
The unsung lie on the ground, unheralded, unapplauded, unlauded, quiet,
never played out.
Copyright © John Anderson | Year Posted 2017
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