When I Cannot Speak Who Will Speak For Me
When I cannot speak, who will catch the cry
That hangs on the hush of a midnight sky?
Will the wind recall what I longed to say,
And carry it soft through the silver-grey?
The stars may glisten with borrowed grace,
But they know nothing of my place—
My quiet ache, my silken grief,
The fragile bloom of a half-lived belief.
Will the river sing what I could not bare,
In lilting sobs through the hollow air?
Or will the dusk, in pity, glean
My vanished voice from the in-between—
And stitch it into the world unseen?
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