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?