The Little Voices

I woke up this morning
to the sounds of the bellowing wind
brushing through the trees
and in the quiet moment
I missed the little voices
in the distance as they played.

My memory replays the sounds
I’ve heard each morning
as in the distance they played
they scream, they shout
the little voices, without a doubt
are no more there
O how I miss the little voices.

O. Stephen Peart. 2020 © All rights reserved

Motivation for this Poem
This piece was penned during our period of isolation resulting from the COVID-19 pandemic. The writer came outside on a very windy day. As he listened to the wind, his memory retraced the sounds of children in the nearby neighbor school as they played. In that moment, the writer felt a missing gap of a life experience that we often so take for granted. Our children are our life and the joy of our offspring. This piece seeks to celebrate the little voices.

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