Murmuring Voices

The silence is broken by a holler,

Young, fresh, just out of the shell,

Popping, hopping about,

Yelling for it’s own.

The other four, grown and aged listen,

All attention, standing tall,

Backs to the wind, eardrums toward the sound,

Trying to determine from wince it’s found.

All know what the cry means,

They once too had cried the same song.

Now grown they hear the cries of their own,

And listen to its trancing melody.

The song draws them close, pulling tight,

Making them unsure of whether to cry along with it, in a childhood memory,

Or grow beyond the shell,

Sprouting wings to burst into flight.