Forgotten Language

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed
Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers...
How did it go?
How did it go?

By Shel Silverstein

Tiny Feet

A child's tiny feet, 

Blue, blue with the cold, 

How can they see and not protect you?

Oh, my God!

Tiny wounded feet, 

Bruised all over by pebbles,

Abused by snow and soil!

Man, being blind, ignores

That where you step, you leave

A blosson of bright light,

That where you have placed

Your bleeding little soles

A redolent tuberose grows.

Since, however, you walk

Through the streets so straight,

You are courageous, without fault.

Child's tiny feet, 

two suffering little gems,

How can the people pass, unseeing.