Forgotten Language by Shel Silverstein

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,

Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,

Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,

And shared a conversation with the housefly in my bed.

Once I heard and answered all the questions of the crickets,

And joined the crying of each falling dying flake of snow,

Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .

How did it go?

How did it go?

“I don’t remember… I don’t recall… I’ve got no memory of anything at all.” -Gabriel’s Peter (or something like that)