The brook’s never dumb
Yet it’s voice is often drowned
By our babbling

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on April 6, 2016, in Wee Poems and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 7 Comments.

  1. Okay I smile. Because now I’m listening with my mouth closed.

    Liked by 1 person

  1. Pingback: Dancing with Writers – silentlyheardonce

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