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

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