What skill would you like to learn?
If I could choose one gift, one grace,
I’d learn the languages of place—
Of hill and harbor, field and street,
Of every soul I long to meet.
I’d cradle words like morning light,
And hold their meanings soft and tight,
So no sweet voice would go unheard,
No longing lost in foreign word.
In Paris, I would speak of dreams,
In Seoul, of stars and moonlit streams.
In Cairo, tell you tales of sand,
In Rio, take you by the hand.
In Cherokee, I’d speak with trees,
And learn the hush of mountain breeze—
“ᎣᏏᏲ” (Osiyo) just to say
That peace walks with us every day.
In German, love is strong and bold,
“Ich liebe dich” in winter cold—
We’d dance through rain with laughing eyes
And toast to love beneath grey skies.
In Irish, soft as clover air,
I’d call you grá mo chroí—so fair,
A phrase that blooms like misted dew,
“My love, my heart,” just meant for you.
In Scottish lilt, I’d sing your name,
Like wind that sets the heather flame.
“A ghràdh” I’d whisper through the glen—
My darling, over hills again.
Each tongue, a ribbon on the breeze,
Unraveling the world’s mysteries—
But all would find their truest hue
When used to say, I cherish you.
So teach me words, both old and new—
I’ll learn them all, to speak with you.
Across all borders, near or far,
Your name remains my guiding star.
The Writings of Felina Silver 
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