Little Feet

Gabriela Mistral

Little children’s feet,
blue with cold—
how can they be seen, uncovered,
dear God?

Little wounded feet,
bruised by every stone,
outraged by the snow
and the mud!

Blind humanity does not know
that wherever you pass,
you leave behind
a living flower of light;

that wherever you set
your bleeding little sole,
the tuberose blooms
with sweeter fragrance.

Go on, since you travel
the straight and narrow roads,
heroic as you are,
and perfect.

Little children’s feet,
two suffering jewels—
how do people pass by
without seeing you?