The forest floor stretches drum tight, bound by verdant slopes, a timpani of sound.
First greeters of rain’s onslaught, leaves trill joy, form larger drops, a deeper sound
While tires rumble freeways flowing through suburban sprawl like spring flash floods
That envelope older, gravely rich, established enclave’s tombstones. Gurgles sound
That rival reverberations of a symphony hall, canyon walls full of a halcyon praise.
Nature mutes personal pain, music of motion scoring modern hallelujahs in sound,
Though rainbows, ocean tides, and tidal frictions in lunar crust, also have a voice.
These vibrations only felt by enraptured souls, that are so unlike an infant’s sound,
Season earth with salty song. As mans’ voice rises into space, a lullaby harmonizes,
To any God with ears to hear, a strong echo, “It is good! ” our praise colored sound!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem