Unseen Silence

A bird on a branch with plumage so sleek, Sang a soft song, his voice small and meek, His tune was a whisper, a mere breath of sound, A delicate melody that scarcely was found. He chirped of the morning, of dew on the grass, Of sunlight that filtered through leaves like stained glass, His song was a secret, a soft-spoken grace, A gentle companion to the quiet, calm place. Yet one day a grumble arose from below, "Be quiet, you chatter! Don’t you know?" The words cut his song like a blade in the air, And the bird fell silent, retreating with care. He perched in the shadows, his voice held within, His soft song now stifled, his heart tucked in thin, He wondered, confused, had he been too loud? Had his whispering song somehow gathered a crowd? The forest around him, still hushed and serene, Knew nothing of noise, or a scene that was seen, Yet the bird held his silence, unsure what to do, For fear that his voice was too much, and too true. Days turned to nights, and the quiet grew deep, No murmurs of song to lull the world’s sleep, The forest felt empty, a void in its soul, The absence of music had taken its toll.