These are all your falling leaves,
And sunlight glinting in your trees.
And this is your sound of wind against
Your structures standing firm.
This is all yours,
The dirt and rocks and shores.
This is your riverbottom,
Dry for now, but soon again
To be flowing with your water.
This is your quiet that you made
Uninterrupted, without hesitation.
And your noise pollution, created
By your people's need for transportation.
And these are your words spilling
From my mouth. With your will,
I open it and they come spinning out.
These are your words, given me to
Describe your places.
Your squeaking hinges
And telephone rings,
And your words given me to describe these things.
Without your quiet touch to smooth the edges
This world would indeed be a rough place to live.
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