The notes bubble up, and I start to hum
As cacti fly past, guarding the road
I rarely sing; the skilled call it “noise.”
Truth be told, it may also be noise
These off-key notes that I quietly hum
I’m nearly ashamed, though I’m alone on the road.
Minutes will pass as I fly down the road
“Who cares,” I’ll say, “If it’s a hideous noise?”
So I’ll holler and sing, instead of just hum.
Then the time for silence will come, when the only noise is the hum of the road.