Listen closely, listen silently.

Even if you have to strain to hear,

Keep listening to the lines.

It’s a language you know,

And you know very well.

Yet it’s a language we cannot see.

A language of love, a language of thought.

A language of labor, sorrow and ambition.

But listen as the tale weaves tightly,

Creating an art of unbelievable beauty.

Feel the rising and the descending of the tones,

Watch the passion that is reaped as the sounds flow.

Be amazed at what the teller unfolds.

Speaking what is known to be,

The second language.