They are heedless
Those who walk on city pavements.
Heedless of killing and injuring
Small creatures moving or not…
Ah! How heedful I am at each step
Heedful of crushing, of smashing
Along the path or through the field
Tiny humble creatures beneath my foot:
The green beetle crouched in the moss,
The minute ant carrying
With great effort and ingenuity
The short-straw to her anthill.
Pretty little flowers half-hidden in the grass,
Trying to open their heart to the Sun.
It seems to me that I hear their lament:
—Why then, Lord, did you not give
Wings to Man?
Ah! How heavy is the weight of his foot on us!
June 1972.
Translated by Lenora Timm
