To thee that speaks to ears quiet of mine,
Speak softly with thy lips that I may see,
Thine thoughts in time that twirl to tell a sign,
Of all the world and what words mean to me.
So swift are silent storms so shy of sound,
Teasing my tears wherefore I can not hear.
So I assume, confusing what's around,
Not knowing what the world is saying clear.
Maybe one day a miracle will grow,
Allowing something deaf to hear a drum.
But yet I breathe and by my birth I know,
That sense of sound will shelter something numb.
To open ears that hear when thunder breaks,
I'll never know the sound that lightning makes.