Scarcely a breeze stirs.
The pond remains unrippled.
The folks at my house are still asleep
and even outdoors there’s hardly a peep.
From this stillness what will be born –
a squawk, a howl, a sweet murmur,
an argument or, perhaps, a song?
JDG
Scarcely a breeze stirs.
The pond remains unrippled.
The folks at my house are still asleep
and even outdoors there’s hardly a peep.
From this stillness what will be born –
a squawk, a howl, a sweet murmur,
an argument or, perhaps, a song?
JDG
“Still Life” . . . in the key of ‘Thee’.
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