Gardens with grey tree frogs are croaking my name,
I let their midnight chorus soothe me,
The song that has always been outside the foggy window.
Songs are of great importance,
From the smallest of smalls to the tallest of talls,
They are to be heard,
No matter the kind or reason.
I embody the martian as he
For my ears and the entire world to hear.
As the leaves turn to ash,
And my breath brings clouds into the atmosphere,
The sweet sounds that filled the air just months prior
Cease to leave a haunting silence among us.
Have you missed the songs of the century as the snow blows into our yards?
Have you spent time with the earth, enough to hear how the aliens of this world create their masterpiece?
Have you felt the buzz in your ear of another life passing by yours?
I, myself, loathe the unknown lifestyles of the creatures that fall into our shadows.
I wonder how they see the summer sun
Or the few petals left on the wilting pansy.
I hope that we leave impressions on these beings,
With our lives that have the most meaning,
At least in our eyes.
Inspired by “Song of Myself” by Walt Whitman
I.S.O Whitman Poem by Zoe is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.