Spoken Lullaby

It is the sound of the finches,
on an early summer morning,
it is the lullaby of silence,
as I sleep still each night.

it subsists in more ways than one,
we're all owned by some, unique;
music retained in our heart,
sings to each a different tune.

it is the sound of our breath,
as we breathe as one;
it is the song of dawn,
newly broken by the sun.

we live the harmonies,
some are fresh and wordless,
others bold or gentle.
a universal language, it speaks.