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