I was weaving down a busy sidewalk
glancing back at faces glancing at me
and from somewhere I heard a lonely voice
that asked only two simple questions
which I could not stop to answer:
For whom does the wind in the trees mourn?
And for whom does the sky weep on this sad day?
I shrugged my shoulders and weaved on.
I was already ten minutes late for work
and I had no time for disembodied voices.
I was shouting for my little daughter
who was far too mobile for a toddler
and my son was balanced on my hip.
My body ached and my mind was frazzled
but from nowhere came a faded voice
asking two simple, heartfelt questions
which I had no time to answer:
For whom does the wind in the trees mourn?
And for whom does the sky weep on this sad day?
“Baby, come here.” Was all I could say
and I took my child’s hand in mine.
I couldn’t stop to listen to echoes.
I was thinking hard on a Sunday night
trying to remember calculus from college
to help my girl with her homework
which was due Monday morning.
I heard a tiny, forlorn, abandoned voice
ask me two simple, honest questions
that my head was too full to answer:
For whom does the wind in the trees mourn?
And for whom does the sky weep on this sad day?
“Find the derivative of the dependent variable.”
Mathematics always gave me a headache
and I had no patience for bodiless voices.
I was finally going to retire in peace,
and today was my last day at work.
My children were coming to the party
and I had to call the Williams’
and ask to borrow their card table.
I barely heard a desperate voice
that asked only two simple questions
that I could not pause to answer:
For whom does the wind in the trees mourn?
And for whom does the sky weep on this sad day?
The guests would be here any minute
and I hadn’t vacuumed the livingroom yet.
Whispered queries weren’t important.
I was looking forward to my kids visiting
during the nursing home Christmas party.
It was always nice hearing news from home
and seeing my grandchildren again.
I heard a sobbing, pleading voice
begging two simple, weary questions
that I denied to answer:
For whom does the wind in the trees mourn?
And for whom does the sky weep on this sad day?
“How about a kiss for grandma?”
My grandchildren were growing so big.
Whispered echoes and voices could wait.
I was standing alone on a barren plain
and no calm words could soothe my fears
and sorrow was the air I breathed
and pain was the over-turned earth.
In the distance I heard a bitter voice
and it laughed out two simple questions
and I already knew the answer:
For whom does the wind in the trees mourn?
And for whom does the sky weep on this sad day?
Not for me.
I never heard the sad cry of the world
or the beseeching lament of the earth.
I never bothered to hear the words
that resonated in my soul.
I ignored the helpless seeking hope,
the lonely entreating kindness,
the forlorn begging relief.
How blessed can I be in truth
if the world does not mourn my passing?