Poor Mr.WitherStone
All old
         Hobbling every step
Gray, matted down hair
                      Liver spotted skin
        But he must have had
A happy life
         Because
WitherStone has wrinkled skin
          Round lines that mark his smile
    And large crows feet at
                              at the corner of his eyes
The skin on his hands seems
                   To fold and slide
       it is stretched out
                    Because
He could always someone elses
                                   Hand
     And his legs seem to be over lapping
Skin that just hangs
                            But because
     People gave him their seats
                                   So he wouldn't have to stand
                   But his neck and chin
       Seem to have a hanging flap
And it was because
         Poor Mr.WitherStone
                                Always looked
               High
    On every Bright
                            Sunny Day

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?