Like a reed, hollow green tender heaven-high
he played, and the world sang out of his mouth
in flowers; crocus and columbine and daisy
and rose the iris the lilac the lily blew
and scattered and flew, arrows we chased after
in the light in the wind into the world
until we had no names left to call them only
our shouts and cries that burst from his mouth and bloomed,
The stones in the road clattered and clay laughed.
—Irving Feldman, from “The Little Children of Hamelin”
Illustration Credit Pat Perry
