Peter just sits there silently
Watching the people go by and
Wishing he were one of them.
He smiles at his little book of
Delicate doodles and drawings that
Say the things he can't say.
His clothes are his brother's who
Is doing well in the city.
His hair is cut too short on
Sundays when his uncle comes
With the scissors and another
Pencil and little sketch book.
Mary just sits there and looks at
Him in his little world of no sound
Telling him fireside stories which only
They know and only they hear.
A door slams goodbye after supper,
A car engine whispers 'they're gone',
A glance at each other says
More than just words,
A kiss says forever
For a while again.