words weaken meaning
sometimes, these roots reach too deep
for merely speaking…
my heart blooms instead;
soul rivers running fully
humming centuries
so much unspoken
fruit piled high, birds plying song
and this love unsung.
Plying Song
Published by
J. Ruth Kelly 
Your beautiful poem reminded me of this:
Tired of all who come with words, words but no language
I went to the snow-covered island.
The wild does not have words.
The unwritten pages spread themselves out in all directions!
I come across the marks of roe-deer’s hooves in the snow.
Language, but no words.
— Tomas Tranströmer
hello pierre, thank you and thanks for sharing such a resonating poem….