i could write volumes about: <br />the barking of dogs, <br />the stampeding marching song of ants. <br />the screeching grate of the snail crossing pavement, <br />the sound of the fire flickering on the candle wick. <br />the hymn of the rain before it hits the ground, <br />the jubilent sound of the rose petal opening... <br />the scream of the autumn leaf <br />just as it begins to fall. <br />the sharp intake of breath, <br />when the tree sees the saw. <br />the heavy breathing of silence, <br />that brings darkness to night.... <br /> <br />real language, without pretension, <br />or forethought... <br />without the need to grasp as 'i or me'! <br />the infinite language of a silent god!<br /><br />Eric Cockrell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/no-words-for-hune/
