Piececitos
A Jorge Guzmán Dinator
Little feet of children
blue with cold,
how can they see you and not cover you—
dear God!
Little wounded feet
cut by every stone,
hurt by snow
and mire.
Man, blind, does not know
that where you pass,
you leave a flower
of living light.
And where you set
Your little bleeding foot,
the spikenard blooms
More fragrant.
Walking straight paths,
be heroic, little feet,
as you are
perfect.
Little feet of children
two tiny suffering jewels,
how can people pass
and not see you!
Translated by Doris Dana
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