I cannot speak the words I want to say;
I cannot make the sounds, nor plumb their meaning.
I am a mute, and not just for today;
My soul and voice together need some cleaning.
Incapability can be of many kinds,
Not merely physical, nor just emotional;
And lack of speech is both, for my heart finds
A secret silence near-devotional.
I ponder you and so can form no speech;
My silence is the herald of my joy.
If it so happens that my tongue can't reach
The words, then that does nothing to annoy
The spirit that, unspeaking, finds its voice
In contemplation as a willful choice.
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