Grandfather told me
I had no voice to sing
and I stopped singing
and those beautiful words
I use to squeeze out of tune
lie low, lie still
for years and years
And the chorus flew south
did not return with travelling birds
and I did not sing
did not open my voice,
except to talk breathe or yawn
And grandfather sink
covered in soil to silent home
and I sing then
repeating passing hymns
only spirits with wings
and inquisitive wind could hear;
a calm inside hum
of a send-off song I sang to him
