Poem #68: The Quiet Ones

It isn't only the vociferous,

the fearless, the vengeful

who sing. The songs 

of mid-day, of course, 

belong to them: 

bright songs of

glorious wars (and 

more subtle battles) won

and lost; brave, galloping

songs of romance

and adventure; songs

to stir the blood and

rouse the faintest heart.

In the gentler hours, though--

when lilac mists drape

sleeping fields, 

when fog stirs and roams 

in solitude among the

fern-shod giants and 

tumbling crags--

then softer melodies

are born. The quiet 

ones, who do not boast 

or brag, whose songs--more

intricate, by far--lament

the warriors lost, 

the cost of worldly love 

and honor eclipsed by 

beauty's harsh, bleak glare.

There you will find

truth, sweet and pure,

among a low-slung

hum of honeybees, and

blowzy clouds against

a summer sky, an evening

kiss, a faint, fair lullaby. 

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

Poem #68: The Quiet Ones