When silence as my aptest singing sits Perched atop old boughs of weighty song And all my voluble voice is simply fit For inner comment at what comes along 5 Then I know our hours are most golden And have a tone of knowing something more Than rapid words that flit and flit may hold With all their chorus of singing by the score. Then I know a single note unsung 10 And held in inner vibrato only Keeps the tune alone when all's unstrung And song without beginning lingers only. Then I look into your two eyes, dear one, And hear what symphony we have begun.
From the collection "Supposing Roses"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.