I hear it under the wind
a whisper so faint, to be taken back
as if it was never spoken

I hear it over the hill
a murmur betwixt the grass, cut short
out of fear it was remembered

I hear it in the woods
a slow chanting, but shrouded
in the night, away from starlit eyes

I hear it on the wind
it travels to me now, a whistle
harmonic to the air and the sky

Try as you might,
the birds are singing the song of the people.