The final speaker of a dying tongue,
Delivering ancient poems to the night,
He knew his words would never more be sung.
Expecting few appropriate days to come,
A last oration to the world seemed right
As final speaker of a dying tongue.
His words were limping when they should have run;
His audience of rabbits fled in fright.
He knew his words would never more be sung.
Remembering the stories he had spun,
His vocal cords betrayed him and grew tight;
The final speaker of a dying tongue
Seemed smaller suddenly against the sun.
A silence fell and lengthened, won the fight.
He knew his words would never more be sung.
He closed his mouth and peered around him, dumb,
And died annoyed, the victim of a slight.
The final speaker of a dying tongue,
He knew his words would never more be sung.
poems by Tommy Herbert 