Not Everything Is Spoken
--Jean Follain 

From evening to morning
in this pure place
the animals pass without thought
the trees tremble
the reflecting pool is stagnant
deserts pursue their mirages.
Those of the human race go by.
Not everything is spoken
the most beautiful woman shouts.

An analysis of a Follain poem, and as representative of his poetry on a whole, is available at The Globe & Mail.