Language-Less Poem by Dennis Murphy

I am just a rogue, an not a good one at that
Every word I bother to utter is stolen
Pretending to pick the fruit beneath my hat
From purest humans hanging furs to not let the cold in

He speaks sagas of love smiling as he returns from the hunt
Sharing his kill language-less offering food in hand
Anything I can muster about anger he's said in one grunt
Each word I can write he's written with a line in the sand

He knows no gods therefor knows no war
No words written or spoken to come between
Knows nothing of gold how can they be poor
Yet they do know love of this I can be keen

They've already said and wrote anything I'll ever think of
I know this to be true because they knew love