For the Grief Over Wordless Voices

I found this one on a little grave beneath a crab apple tree, left for a little furry rascal, that be he alive or dead, could not have read it if he cared. But I care, and so I copy it down here to remember. It was titled 'For the Grief Over Wordless Voices'


Weep not for me, word-ful ones,
waste not tears from your unseeing eyes,
I tread now on the smoothest stones,
free to explore the boundless zones,
that stretch limitless, beyond the skies.


I walk where the mist curls deepest white,
I tread in the dew before the dawn,
I watch the stars wheel through night,
and smell the wind before the light,
wakens to kiss the lawn.

When autumn writhes in golden death throes,
there I walk in utter peace,
on mountain slopes or spreading meadows,
through thick and dew-gilt bristling hedgerows;
I have at last found my release.


Look for me where the mist rolls thickest,
smell for me on the midnight air,
feel for me when the wind buffets hardest,
hear my call when the night is darkest,
and know that I feel, and see and answer;
all that you say to the midnight air.