On Language

I was but a young boy the very first time I heard the sacred charm and mystery of a foreign word on that day I imagined this language, new, unknown was altogether different than this one I call my own it must not have the room for terms of filth, nor hate, nor greed nor any of the other speech a kind man wouldn't need they surely have no use in these for sarcasms and jeer these things so often spoken by a person lost in fear for those who speak this language would never lie to friends for in a truthful language there are no means to ends I was older when I learned another language, new, unknown is just another way of saying the same words as my own If there can be some goodness in a language, new, unknown, it's that one whispered softly by God and his angels alone