When the quiet dance of time
draws me near to death,
I might recall a time
before there were words
coursing through my mind.
when there were sunbeams
filtering through my nursery window,
songs of sparrows,
church bells,
the organ grinder’s squeal,
clang of milk delivery,
horses’ hooves on cobblestone,
the smell of burning chestnuts.
My father used to say,
“Children are closer to God.”
He died at 63,
mute from brain cancer.
At the end
did he reclaim,
this wordless awe?
Lori Desrosiers
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wordless-4/
