She held her breath and life whirled round:
It blasted, blew and buffeted,
But somehow, silent, she stood still,
As if untouched, she stayed her voice.
Within, she held the secret tales,
And slow, she acted out their ways,
And slow, she carried on the lives,
Of all the slow and silent ones.
And all the rest just passed her by,
Ignored her quiet, hopeful words.
They lived so quick they barely lived.
They spoke so fast they made no sense.
When she breathed out, all history bent,
But no-one saw their world whirl round.