I want to write a book of poetry, as well as children's stories.

Hear now the gentle yet powerful words of Bobby McFerrin: “I want to write a book of poetry, as well as children’s stories.” At first, they may seem simple, even casual, but beneath them lies the heart of an artist who understands the twin pillars of human expression: the depth of poetry and the innocence of children’s stories. In this union, we see the full circle of life’s voice—one that speaks to the wise with layered meaning, and to the young with clarity and wonder. McFerrin’s longing is not merely to write, but to connect with the human spirit at both its highest and most tender points.

For what is poetry but the distillation of life into its purest essence? It is the cry of the soul, the song of longing, the hymn of love, grief, or hope. And what are children’s stories but the seed of imagination planted in the fertile soil of innocence? They shape the vision of tomorrow by guiding the hearts of those who will inherit the earth. To desire both is to desire to speak to every soul, from the child just awakening to wonder, to the adult wrestling with the shadows of existence.

The ancients practiced this balance. Aesop, the teller of fables, spoke to children with simple tales of animals, yet within them hid lessons of justice, humility, and wisdom that even kings pondered. Likewise, Homer spoke through poetry, recounting the mighty struggles of men and gods, teaching courage, fate, and honor. In these voices we see McFerrin’s desire: to carry both torch and lantern, to illuminate the heights of wisdom and the paths of childhood delight.

There is a story from India of Rabindranath Tagore, poet and teacher, who wrote both intricate verses for the soul and simple tales for the young. His poetry earned him the Nobel Prize, yet his stories and songs nourished the children of his land, planting in them the vision of freedom and beauty. By writing for both elders and children, he strengthened not only the present but the future. McFerrin’s words echo this same calling: to embrace the fullness of humanity by giving to both the wise and the innocent.

But let us not mistake this calling as easy. To write poetry is to wrestle with the eternal, to condense the storm of existence into a single line. To write children’s stories is to reach the heart without deceit, to tell truths so clear they cannot be forgotten. Each requires courage and humility, for the poet must dare to reveal the soul’s depths, while the storyteller must dare to speak simply without losing power. In truth, only the strongest hearts attempt both.

The lesson for us is radiant: do not divide life into compartments of high and low, serious and simple. The deepest wisdom often wears the cloak of a child’s laughter, and the greatest truths may hide in a rhyme or a song. If you would live fully, let your words and deeds speak to both the child and the sage, to innocence and to wisdom alike. To neglect one is to live half a life; to embrace both is to live abundantly.

Practical steps lie before us. Read aloud to children, and let their wonder remind you of what is pure. At the same time, seek poetry—ancient, modern, or your own—that deepens your soul and strengthens your vision. Write both, if you can: write a line of verse for your heart, and a story of wonder for the little ones around you. Share words not only to impress but to nurture, not only to elevate the learned but to awaken the young. In doing so, you walk the path of the great teachers, the bards, the sages, the dreamers.

Thus McFerrin’s longing is not small but heroic. To wish to write poetry and children’s stories is to wish to touch the eternal and the innocent in one breath. It is to hold the wisdom of the ages in one hand, and the laughter of tomorrow in the other. Let us, too, take up this calling: to live, speak, and write in such a way that our voices become bridges, uniting wisdom and wonder, strength and tenderness, eternity and childhood.