Sound of tin and thunder
I hear the rumbling, the aggravation of rocks, the tremor of concerned skies.
There, beneath all that are the voices of tin. Surly yet weak and wavering they say things that cannot be true and even their songs fall short.
Here we are now with two coins and a banker’s table ready to count all the wrong things.
One day the crystal clear waters will ripple a bit when we mention these memories as if with a tremor of fear at the thought.
We’ve passed the clearing and can see the open vistas ahead.
What was learned thousands of years ago and seemed so solid is true.
And we can sing with strong voice, forte, vibrato-convinced.
Senses and sense, somnolent decor and fighting awakening with the energy of a sapling over time.