By: Anna Chuang

The Wind is like angels singing

With their wings flapping high and low

But Silence is like angels sleeping

Not even an ant creeps over a stone

The Wind is a kind of silence

With some sort of music in the air

No instrument’s there for guidance

But an invisible wind chime there

But Silence is still something

Something quieter than quiet

Though it may almost seem like nothing

It is just a silent riot.