To the beautiful voices that silence keep; never sing.

A thought came today and turned into a rhyme,
For long it may have wandered alone and traveled time.
Who knows? In how many minds, and how many times; it had come before.
To father of the father, and his father, and, fathers of yore.
A thousand times unwritten, and born as dead,
Before I caught this passing thought; passing from my head.
I took my magic wand and turned it a timeless thing,
That would live in a dying world and still virtue bring;
To many beautiful voices that silence keep; and never sing.