Mom, where does the wind, go
When it does not blow?
I never saw its will rescind,
But in a moment there is no wind.
And the brilliant light, Mom,
When you turn its switch off,
Where does it go, so calm,
So soft, as hats are doff?
Also the rich smell of a stew,
Only the weak scent of a few
Herbs makes your tummy growls a lot
Even if the lid is on the pot.
Now, listen to silence, Mom, it's weird!
Where is all the noise in hide?
It cannot be heard even if you're geared
with open ears big and wide?
Fancy the taste of a kiss of love
Where does it go after the deed?
We remember the touch of the dove,
but never the hawking, indeed!
The music is a fragment of "La Campanella" by Arthur Rubinstein.
© 2013 Od Liam.