Certainly speech is not possible,
For what are words without the world that speaks?
Voices in air come from the solid earth.
Green fields speak of May and all is well:
It is the sea tells what the river seeks:
It is the sky which says what heaven is worth.

And so with touch and every other sense,
For what are hard and soft without a stone?
Or scent without the dunghill and the rose?
Fill up the world and you may recompense
The listener listening to the hollow tone
Of sounds without content, or mere prose.

But yet who speaks? There must be speakers too
And you may have encountered one, who touch
The strings they speak with and you listen for.
...