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The Sound Of Silence
By Naman Crowe
The pond has been still as glass for a whole week.
There has not been a single ripple,
Not a movement among the leaves.
What does this mean?
Wondered he,
The lone crow
In the lone tree
By the small pond
In the little swamp
So quiet asleep.
Where are the crickets
And the frogs?
Where are the pollywogs?
Where’s the green snake,
So smooth and sleek?
The moth, the bee?
Where’s the warthog
That used to speak?
Maybe they’re all on vacation,
Thought the crow,
Leading lives of quiet desperation,
Like Thoreau.
Maybe they’re pushing their barns down the road,
Moved to silence beneath their loads,
Leaving no one here but me,
A silent crow in a silent tree.
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