They are heedless
Those who walk on city pavements.
Heedless of killing and injuring
Small creatures moving or not…
Ah! How heedful I am at each step
Heedful of crushing, of smashing
Along the path or through the field
Tiny humble creatures beneath my foot:
The green beetle crouched in the moss,
The minute ant carrying
With great effort and ingenuity
The short-straw to her anthill.
Pretty little flowers half-hidden in the grass,
Trying to open their heart to the Sun.
It seems to me that I hear their lament:
—Why then, Lord, did you not give
Wings to Man?
Ah! How heavy is the weight of his foot on us!

June 1972.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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