He walks alone, down a crowded street.
Yearning to be heard, but no one can hear.
Yearning to be seen, but no one can see.
He is a traveler with no place to go.
He sits surrounded at the dinner table.
Yearning to eat, but he can't lift the fork.
Yearning to drink, but he can't hold the glass.
He is a hand without a glove.
He lies in the grass, beneath the oak tree.
Yearning to feel the breeze, but he has no skin.
Yearning to touch the tree, but he has no fingers.
He is an eagle without wings.
He stands in the mirror, blank as can be.
Yearning to see himself, for he knows he is there.
But as a spirit has no body, no skin, no feeling,
he stands in silence, unheard... unseen.
He lies on a cloud, thinking of life,
his daughter, and his wife.
From somewhere in the wind, the faint
voice of his daughter lifts from below.
He listens contently, proud to be known.
He now knows his daughter believes in him,
and only wishes she could know
that he hears her.
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