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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?
Shel Silverstein
Read poems about / on: snow, flower, smile
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Sean Andrews (4/24/2008 11:01:00 PM)
I believe the skill that he lost was the imagination he had as a child, and imagination isn’t necessarily the right word, open-mindedness might be more accurate, willingness to listen perhaps.
Language of the flowers means the language of nature in general. But each of the next lines evoke an emotion that you would likely experience as a child listening and imagining. Caterpillars, slow and deliberate “each word, ” “gossip of the starlings” quick and fluttery, houseflies always buzzing around you (especially at inconvenient times) , and crickets going and going with “all the questions” no matter what you did to stop them, each snowflake is unique and individual we’re always told as children and dying is accurate because there’ll never be another like it which is sad in a way especially as a child “crying”…
It may seem non-sensical and I don’t know much of Shel Silverstein’s work but I have read some; and stories such as the giving tree, while designed for children have a much deeper meaning. If you read it as nonsense and believe it is nonsense, or merely entertaining, then it is, just that. |
Cheryl Moyer (7/11/2007 9:20:00 AM)
Dear Shel -
The flower whispered, 'Oh' to the caterpillar,
Who wrote it for the starlings next song,
The housefly danced it across my butter,
The crickets rubbed their legs to sing along,
The falling snow stopped to consider........
How they all were the song
How they all were the song.
Note - Blessings to you for the joy you give to all! ! ! ! ! !
Cheryl Lynn |
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