When we were silent, we sat in the still,
Quiet passiveness of bottom-smooth stones.
When we whispered, it was like a river,
Running over our porous rock faces.
When we laughed is was like a shower of
Small pebbles falling, spilling over us.
And when we yelled, it was as if the world
Was crashing around us, engulfing us
In an avalanche of boulders and mud.
So we lived out our lives in sets of lines,
Each with ten syllables and words that we
Chose to describe us as musical ones,
As beings of rhythm, one with nature.
And from time to time we come out again
To perform for the world our symphony,
The orchestral sounds of a century.