The Hush
B
Barry Middleton
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When brittle death and winter come,
I will forget the red rose of passion.
Spring's return is small consolation
for final silence,
limit of beauty and love,
the fallen petal, the cold stars,
the end of music.
Can you hear me pleading for touch?
Can you hear my song?
I want no memorial where time whispers
beneath falling leaves.
What of the pledge and promise of life
to not forget?
My voice is asleep like a winter bird,
my flower striped of its petals,
only your memory keeps my soul.
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