I do not listen well
For silence seems to overwhelm
My senses in the blackest night.
Yet come and stand abreast with me
And you shall hear, with sheer delight,
The sounds of nature calling you
Some soft, some sharp, some clear, some bright
Though midnight be the time you rise
And rub your eyes to come alive.
What screech is that?
Not tires on the road,
So deep within the forest grove.
An owl you say,
Though I am city-bred
Agreement slips between my lips
As eagerly I search the night
For other sounds and prod you with delight,
To tell me all the secrets that I missed
Growing up on city streets.