Not by sight

Out on a walk
I hear a bee,
Peruse the stalk—
No insect see.

Deep in the zone
I hear a thrush:
Melodic tones
From hidden brush.

In grassy field
A sharp chirp burns;
No form’s revealed
By fits and turns.

Down at the pond
The bullfrogs croak—
I look, respond,
But find them cloaked.

Small worlds astound
In joy, delight;
Bequeathed by sound
And not by sight.

6/16/2013

"Hidden Guest" 2013 © Brian T. Maurer

“Hidden Guest” 2013 © Brian T. Maurer

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