The Blessings of Small Voices

In March the

tulips and the daffodils are

fragile little colored bells, so you

must bend your knees down to the dirt

to listen closely when they ring because

their papery petals only sing in voices

soft and light

as blossoms falling.

You hear so

little when you stand above them

looking down, though from your great height

you love the flaxen yellow and the white and

the sight of the green blades that burrow up

through mounds of sodden leaves that

look like sheaves

of rusted metal.

Bend down then

and listen. Crawl up close and simply listen.

In April when the bells have shrunken into little

fists, and petals tumble on the ground like your

lover’s dress and stockings strewn around the bedroom

floor, you might hear the rustle of November

leaves and songs

of snowflakes falling.

© 2004 J.M. Keating

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