Post English Poem by Dave James

There's a breeze that blows that misses my face
Grass that grows at an unseen pace
Pathways that wind to a hillside view
Bear witness to the form of the morning dew

Dogs that will bark though yet unheard
Songs from the heart of the morning bird
Lambs bleating loud but still a silence
Whispering grass in fields seem violent

Chatter of children heading for the playground
The whistle of the Postie while making his round
Rain and wind make the tall trees rustle
All sing their songs yet I raise not a muscle

For I sing a tune that should carry on the breeze,
But as loud as I can sing it's surely just a tease
A world away from the land that i knew
And the silence I hear is deafening too.