The river is famous to the fish.The loud voice is famous to silence,which knew it would inherit the earthbefore anybody said so.The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birdswatching him from the birdhouse.The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.The idea you carry close to your bosomis famous to your bosom.The boot is famous to the earth,more famous than the dress shoe,which is famous only to floors.The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries itand not at all famous to the one who is pictured.I want to be famous to shuffling menwho smile while crossing streets,sticky children in grocery lines,famous as the one who smiled back.I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,but because it never forgot what it could do.

—Naomi Shihab NyeRead more: "Famous" from Words Under the Words: Selected PoemsThanks to Anne Lamott for turning me onto this beautiful poem!