Words

If you could come again
And speak to me
I could not hear the words.
The look in your clear eyes,
The wannth of palm on palm,
Pressure of body on body
Would have to serve for speech.
Grateful enough for these, yet still
I'd yearn for words.
To speak is human,
And to hear, divine.


© The Estate of Dorothy Cowlin 2009–2021. All rights reserved.

This poem is known to have appeared in the following publication:

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