Languages are tight, light, and nice;
They walk among us in day and night.
They are no no no yours,
They are no no no mine;
But they’re wings for everyone to fly,
From ancient place to modern life we fly.
From them, with them, and in them;
We reveal our souls in front of a flame.
Languages are kids, are lambs,
Not harmful but joyful at all.
Exposing from our imagination,
They dive through seas, spread through nations,
To satisfy our understanding, and imagination.
Verbally, they’re grocery store.
By eye, face, and art, they live in silent.