Even in Silence

Loneliness is an old man alone--

Long past fourscore, the venerable ancient

Lived in silence of solitude.

Forty years of loneliness,

Forth years since he had placed his Marie

To rest beneath the great pine she loved,

Under whose sheltering arms

The two had often sat together

In the quietude of companionship.

Compassion stirred the apathetic embers of my heart:

Kindled, I visited him.

"Lonely?" He echoed my question--

His eyes lifted to mine were like April violets

Beneath the blossom-white snow of his hair;

And his voice held the lyrics of a little river

Released from the boundaries of winter--

"No, my dear, not lonely,

For I companion with great men, kings and prophets--

Today the psalmist David has comforted me."