I cannot talk the grown-up way, To tell them all I've thought and planned; And nearly all that grown-ups say I do not plainly understand. But every little murmuring breeze, Or sounds that whisper in a shell, Or leaves that rustle on the trees,— I understand them all quite well. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESTIC SONG by DAVID IGNATOW THE COTTON CLUB by CLARENCE MAJOR |