The life that I have
Is all that I have
And the life that I have
Is yours.
The love that I have
Of the life that I have
Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have
A rest I shall have
Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years
In the long green grass
Will be yours and yours and yours.
***
The word not spoken
goes not quite unheard.
It lingers in the eye,
in the semi-arch of brow.
A gesture of the hand
speaks pages more than words,
The echo rests in the heart
as driftwood does in sand,
To be rubbed by time
until it rots or shines.
The word not spoken
touches us as music
does the mind.