Somewhere in my mind’s many rooms,
I hear a sound I dimly recognize–
Faint and ghostly, not quite clear–
A sound more haunting than piercing,
So distant yet so familiar to my ear:
‘Tis the echo of a song I didn’t sing.
I’m haunted by the echoes in my mind,
The echoes of a lullaby left unsung.
I can almost recall the melody,
I can almost speak the words,
The tune is nearly mine to hum:
Yet to sing this lullaby I am denied–
The very thought has left me numb–
By this song and my guilt am I decried.
I despair of hearing that accusing sound,
The echo from lullaby which was never sung.
I can but weep and beg of you who hear,
To listen to my cautionary tale,
The road I’ve not walked seemed long,
But though arduous may the journey be,
The way is filled with laughter and song,
But to stray is the path to misery.
How–I am tormented!–could I possibly know,
An unsung lullably leaves the loudest echo?
Sweet mercy may be granted even to a wretch,
Though it moves through channels mysterious,
And in time all may be lovingly reconciled
The sadness and sorrow which once I knew,
Has given me a heart both meek and mild–
The courage to confess and to be blessed anew.
Only now do these torturous echoes die down:
I hear the lullaby as sweet music to be sung.