A Leaf, a Flower, and a Stone

Now there are no more words
I bring a leaf,
A flower, and a stone.

A leaf for my mouth
That can no longer speak,
Where you may trace
Along vein’s laddered lace,
Graven as hieroglyph,
Thought’s groping, tentative
But certain, toward your south:
A leaf for my mouth.

A flower for my heart
That finds no song;
Purer than rhyme,
Fragrance may climb,
Petal on petal,
Up the perfumed stair
To you, aware
Of music more profound,
More innocent than art:
A flower for my heart.

A stone for my hand
That silent comes to rest
Within your palm, a bird,
Hidden upon the nest,
Who, in a spiral, heard,
Mid-flight, the call
That sent its body small
Plummeting earthward, home,
Heavy with gravity
It cannot understand:
A stone for my hand.

Now there are no more words,
But, you will know, when I sing
For others, that I bring
To you alone
A leaf, a flower, and a stone.

ANNE MORROW LINDBERGH