Silenced Song



We minded that the sharpest ear
The buried brooklet could not hear,
The music of whose liquid lip
Had been to us companionship,
And, in our lonely life, had grown
To have an almost human tone.

-John Greenleaf Whittier (1807 - 1892),
Snow-Bound; A Winter Idyl







images © 2000 by Randy Wang
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