- wild white violets
Perhaps, despite all our plans, schemes, and best intentions, all we really leave behind is silence. But perhaps we can at least, during our lives, define the type of silence we will leave.
If all I leave behind is silence
Let it be the silence of my eyes opening
To violets on my pillow.
Let it be the silence of the first pussy willow of spring
brave in the snow
Let it be the silence of sunlight
melting across our bed
Let it be the silence of the last line drawn
The last word written
The ringing eternity between final note and first applause.