Her name was born of ocean breath,
of wind, sunshine and rain.
The warming tones of dawn's caress,
the light commanding shade.
Across far shores and solemn sands,
to where soft silence met,
By ancient stones that spoke her name.
Each hush, each hush, a promise kept,
each curl of wave the same.
The sea relearning how it wept
and what it would not say.
Through forest air the whisper flew,
a murmur through the green.
The pines all leaned as if they knew
some secret voice between.
It danced in leaves, it sang, it blew,
in tones both sharp and keen.
A language old, but ever new,
spoke only by the trees.
Her name became the fire’s sigh,
the spark that strikes the air.
It rose, it burned, refused to die,
its light both pain and prayer.
The embers breathed, the ashes sigh
for all that wasn’t there.
A stillness proud among the flame,
A warmth I could not share.
Now silence falls where footsteps go,
and winter claims the sound.
Her name, that hush beneath the snow,
is all the earth has found.
The ashes drift, the echoes slow,
their freedom outward bound.
And I, who learned of song below,
still listen for that sound.