The pattern of your speech is in my ear
Although I do not hear you speak out loud
Shall I say ear or is it heart that bears
The form that made your speech have its right sound?
Wherever in myself I find your trace,
I long to keep it even when I grieve.
As though, because I do not see your face,
I never wish by sound to be deceived.
And at the end, you did not speak at all
Like the bird rests soft inside its nest.
But with your eyes, you gave me a sweet smile
As happy as a baby at the breast.
And so you went, but left your patterns here.
Thus by prosody, I feel you near
How my heart sings 