Can you draw the sap
from a wild cherry tree?
Can you teach the sparrow not to fly free?
Can the clouds in the sky become
Does the birch tree crawl
when it’s just learned to stand?
Does the silence of flowers
mean they can’t talk?
Does a blackboard of stars
mean they’re just chalk No (and don’t sulk)
So the fact that you’re gone, doesn’t mean
you’re not here.
Yet how I miss you!
Though I don’t shed a tear.
Does the door that is flat
ever rise to the ceiling?
The door you slam, open on hinges?
Does the window of your eye
look out and in?
Are the two worlds it sees somehow blood kin?
When you’re ready
to love, are you ready to fight?
Is spirit real? Is the sun full of light? Yes (that’s right)
So the fact that you’re here, doesn’t mean
you’re not gone.
God, how I miss you! Can right go so wrong?
But bad or good, old or young,
come live with me all our lives long.
Or I’ll sing you forever this wretched song.