Prose Poem by Michelle Melody

A perfect quiet Spring
Evening.
Wispy white clouds
pass by
my
eyes, nearsighted
still make out
the last sunbeam
peaking.
It is quiet,
a car
rambling by.
It is quiet,
the Birds twitter
their evening prose,
the excitement of the
day to share.
It is quiet,
and I feel like
I have no burden
to bare.
It is quiet,
the Cicada's
rhythmic tick
calling Summer to make her
show.
The temperate
day
drawing a close.
It is quiet,
and all through the house
not a whisper,
the Washing machine
swishes,
My heart has no wishes,
It is quiet.
My ears attentive
pick up a frequency...
of quiet...
Fin