The earth keeps some vibration going:
The hoarse leaves crawl on hissing ground,
Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick.
The warning whispers pass
With songs of misery, music of our woes.
My soul, dressed in silence, rises up.
Awake, harp and lyre! I will awaken the dawn
With only our tongues for our swords
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know–
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.