I am

A grandmother without wrinkles, 

A raven without feathers,

A mother without children. 

I am

A writer with no paper,

A singer with no listeners,

A wind with no kites. 

My eyes may twinkle perfectly well by themselves

And my voice may soar, unrestrained

But where does a song go

When no one hears it?

Where does a poem go

Without a pen?