The Quiet Song

To whom it May Concern

If this path we see is gone,

All that is seen is smoke.

Look for a new path with the dawn,

Whether or not you be whole or broke.

And if the music is overlaid,

And none hear your song.

Know you are uniquely made,

Not fashioned ill or wrong

Gests of old, beauty that is new,

Yet has been sung before.

Lovely ones, all of you,

Writing gems of lore.

Still continue, still all write,

You cave flowers I have found.

Keep writing, powerful and bright,

With the scratching pen a lovely sound.

I say good bye reluctantly.

Though you may see me eventually.

Bid I farewell, but if you wish me to see.

This flower, well oh well, in her cave will be.