Whispers and Cries

By John Herlihy

I hear the birds but it sounds like tweeting,

Near, all around, sounds becoming insisting.

The sounds echo as forest life murmuring,

The frightened breath of the fawn imagining.

The grandfather clock in the parlor mimicking,

The insistent metronome of time’s reckoning.

The cry of the peacock in the lowlands echoing,

The whispers of the wind in the willows breathing.

The frogs in misty marshes of the night croaking,

The cow comforting bells in the fields amassing.

Thunderous sound of horses’ hooves galloping,

The skittish butterflies amid the flowers flitting.

The glory of sound heard in whispers and cries,

To awaken all the voices that silence denies.