The word not spoken

goes not quite unheard.

It lingers in the eye,

in the semi-arch of brow.

A gesture of the hand

speaks pages more than words.

The echo rests in the heart

as driftwood does in sand,

to be rubbed by time

until it rots or shines.

The word not spoken

touches us as music

does the mind.

无声的语言，

并非完全听不见。

它荡漾在眼波里，

表露在眉宇间。

一个心照不宣的手势，

胜过万语千言。

萦绕心灵的回音，

好像浮木浪迹于沙滩，

随着岁月的消磨，

不是燃烧，就是腐烂。

无声的语言，

触及我们的情感，

恰似有声的音乐，

拨动人们的心弦。