The Whisperer’s Will
Where bated breath does not abate
Find baited bile the waiter late
Where bated faith will not sedate
Find baited smile the spotted slate
The quill taken chill with audible shrill
Writes of its own without sort there a shill
But the quill taken still thus muted thrill
It writes and is sown without the freed will
Pitchers toward catch in the throat
Of voices lost to none will gloat
Through melody but few can float
The echo song to it devote
© 2011, J. Devin Hintze
© Copyright 2017 jdevinhintze. All rights reserved.
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