The Sound of Silence

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Spring’s tears speckle the forehead, forming a glistening sheen,
Reaching out to touch the trembling blades, pure and clean.

Her babies emit their thick, sweet-smelling fumes,
One by one, each young bud gaily blooms.

Immersed in the prismatic aura, oozing aloft the land,
The spindly vines crawl, sprawling, with leaves hand in hand.

A spectacle of spring’s symphony delight all senses but one,
Never thought that silence could sound as orotund.





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