Walk the distant meadows in the dark of moon,
inhale forgotten flowers that bloom in hidden grove,
wash in morning dew before it fades to day,
and dance to whalesong murmurings beneath the sea.

Listen: do you hear it?
Can you read unwritten score?
For the notes are scattered 'cross the stars;
the symphony of unscripted lore.

There is beauty in the silence between two beats of a heart,
in questions asked and answered with naught but a single word;
there is joy down unmarked paths when Spring breathes green
or when the snow flakes flutter to the ground.

There is language in the flutter of a dragon fly's wings,
pure magic in the dandelion's dance,
stardust captured in sequoian branches
and dreams released upon a zephyr morn.

I've heard cascading waters from the mountains fall,
and watched the arrowed pines the breezes bring.
I could be deafened--ne'er to hear another sound
yet I'd still hear the music, for I have heard them sing.