To wordless sing, I go into the day
you leave behind. Beyond this sham of dawn,
beyond the dew yet sparkling on the lawn,
sunrise surrenders, leaving only gray.
All murmured in the dark now fades away
so soon, so soon, still must I choose to sing —
I shall be as a bird, awakening,
and wordless go; what more have I to say?
Stephen Brooke ©2018
I thought at first this was going to be a sonnet. But, as the poem puts it, what more have I to say?