Where have the words gone that once so freely flowed?

What is this silence that has crept up in their stead?

Sweet poetry.

Thoughts in meter, verse, and course.

A moment alone.

A pen and a song in darkness.

Yet now has morning broken

And night music passes like dew on the fields

Giving way to new melodies.

Fainter but brighter.

Timid yet hopeful.

A rest is not an ending nor sleep the final word.

Come now, my voice

Pick up the bow and strike a chord.

And let us sing what songs

May yet be sung

A stanza of an eternal chorus.