Said the little boy, “Sometimes I drop my spoon."

Said the little old man, “I do that too."

The little boy whispered, “I wet my pants."

“I do that too," laughed the old man.

Said the little boy, “I often cry."

The old man nodded. “So do I."

“But worst of all," said the boy, “it seems

Grown-ups don’t pay attention to me."

And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.

“I know what you mean," said the little old man.

                                                        Shel Silverstein

Warmth, is it a fairy tale?