Words

Lively words on tiptoes left, Vanishing in the night. In vain have I sought to find them, Those precious prodigal words. Did they slip away like mice Through temples worn out by age? Like jocks who rode the bench too long, Have they quit for lack of play? Or have they found me faithless, Lusting after phrases And daisy chains of impish words, And in anger run away? Fled they like southing swallows Escaping Winter’s blight? Will they come back to me one day Like old Capistrano’s birds? If a wordless king is a pauper; And a well-spoken peasant rich; And words are the gems we offer To who the ones we love, Am I then to be destitute When I wear the crown of years? For if my wealth of words is gone, I cannot beg at Heaven’s gate