Alone.
A miracle.
Choral halleluia winds
blow through the garden
strings. Ears deafened
by a winter of noise
turn their eyes
toward the song
of silence.
Perennials
waltz and sway,
bowing their heads
in humbled witness
to summer's concert
on the cliffs.
Eight bars in,
a car horn barks
out of tune.
Symphony broken,
audience coughing,
tranquility heads
out to sea.
Should you hear
the maestro, direct
him to Jersey.
Our time here
is fading,
and we could use
a tune to hum
from time to time.
Lori Boulard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/normandy-encore/
