I read a lovely poem. You too should.

In the previous post, I urged you to listen to a poem.

I have always believed that poetry is to be listened to, and not merely read within.  The written word is new in human history, but speaking and listening is how we made sense of this world and our place in it. 

If only there is an audio version of this poem by Maya Angelou.

No, it is not about a caged bird.

The title of the poem is When Great Trees Fall.

Of course, it is not about the trees themselves.

All I can do is imagine in my head Maya Angelou read this poem and me listening to it.

When Great Trees Fall

By Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.