the flowers spoke in a different language
I was a child when I first heard
La Valse des Fleurs,
And oh my eyes, brown and narrow brightened.The French (or the Russian?) in me
was born in a sea of strings
and a foundation of beauty, only I understood.Le poisson, la mer, des mots faciles,
what a joy they are to an eight year old!
How easy it is to learn that green is vert!Knowing nothing of gender,
knowing nothing of plurals,
and how these words would define more than the languages I learn.Now I trip on foreign sounds, too old
to master with ease.
Even now I still hear Tchaikovsky.