It's not silence that rests my soul;
It's the gentle rustling of leaves
As the trees sway in the summer breeze.
It's the distant cooing of doves
Calling their mates
And the chirrup of sparrows
Hidden in the green branches.
It's not the silence that rests my soul;
It's the soft buzzing of the bees
Collecting lavendar nectar,
While the butterflies fly
Silently among them.
It's the distant harvester,
Harvesting the wheat
To feed the nation.
It's the sound of a single car,
Travelling slowly down the lane;
Followed by the clip-clop
Of a lone horse and rider.
The sound of friendly chatter,
Wafting softly on the breeze,
Tells my soul the world is here,
Close but not pressing.
The sound of silence is harsh
And lonely.
Gentle sounds,
Soft, slow and distant,
Wafting across open fields,
Whisper contentment.
A soft echo
Of nature's natural rhythm
That my heartbeat answers
And rests my soul.
READ MORE POEMS BY SHARON HEANEY STANSFIELD