Singing Rivers And Roses, Talking Clouds Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Someone whispered,
the river does not talk;
the river is mute
and goes about its business
of carrying water,
carrying water.

Someone told me,
you’ll find no wisdom
sleeping in the folds
of a rose, like a resting
beetle. Looking for a home,
looking for a home.

Someone said to me,
The clouds are vaporous
things; they are up there,
you are down here.
Clouds make rain,
clouds make rain.

Listen, “someone”:
The river, the rose, the clouds
know more than you
could ever imagine.
They sing to us,
they sing to us,

but not to you.