It isn’t that to hear from you
Would make me more complete;
I wouldn’t even want you to
If that to you weren’t meet.
It’s just that, in the course of things,
When days are no more long,
I’d like to hear a bird that sings
Its charming, little song.
But, now that evening’s come around,
I don’t suppose I will,
And so, without a single sound,
I climb the wooden hill
And think that, if I had the choice,
I’d dream I’d get to hear your voice.
Photo by Ümit Bulut on Unsplash
