but isn't all silence golden when out amongst reaching shadows

where the trees, stoic sentries, number the stars

with branches enough to point out every last one

ah, but there is no silence as golden as newly fallen snow

or maybe in truth it is more of a silver-tipped white quiet

talking aloud only when chased frantic by the gathering winds

whichever it is, every remote mountain face knew better

wallowing in the stubborn, voiceless expanse of itself

spreading its rusty solid hush from earth to sky

oh, no-- no, no, no-- not even close are the rest to thee

to that soundless swing and sway of departing leaves

their constant crackle chatter saved up for forest floors

but isn't all silence golden-- yes, yes, it is-- golden

proud and glorious, spun fine and thick, oh, how it shines

the rarest gold the earth beholds, of nature's dusted  kiss