Patuxent Morning

In the silence of the sound
Of the animals and the bugs
There was an emptiness - a page
With words to be written
Of vivialities, somehow more
Than the chirping
Of the crickets at dawn.

But their sound is true beauty,
In the single book of time,
And the song makes me wonder
'Bout the things I hold divine.

I realize that these chirpings
-of my own soul-
Seem to fit not nicely,
But perfectly
In the space there's left beside.
And the sprit which we ponder
's lovely tune will never die.