The eternal, steady, discernable pulsing, is
First felt upon rolling into the City, the
Bricked Buildings, parallel streetways, the
Dwellers, peripatetic, with leather-leashed dogs, the
Open window intrusive loud music, heard
Amidst the diffused glare of traffic streetlights, the
Screeching halt of a speeding auto, the
Clanking din of the lidded metal bins,
All are singers in the Metropolitan Choral.
By radical amendment to the libretto, the
Country sounds emanate from softer voices, the
The sibilant sounds of the brushing arbor, the
The pliant wind though standing tree trunks, the
Soft neighborly brush of verdant bushes, occasional
Sounds of small critters and soprano songbirds, the
Salutary respite of quiet, dark nighttime, occasionally,
Punctuated with distant hoots and canine barking, this
Is the Planet’s natural, earthly Sonata, hanging on.r
p-
L.N. Shapiro [9/16/21]
plinyblogdotcom 
This is a very beautiful poem, thank you. I think I know which sounds you and I prefer although both have their exquisite vitality.
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Thank you; did you notice the fast reading pace it causes?
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