Robbing a Song

A green Bird sang beside my windowsill—

‎its soothing voice still lingers and twitters;

‎the birdsong makes light of heavy hills.

‎yet the Hunter came, ready for the kill.

‎

‎The gentle Wind is good for my soul:

‎it foretells the coming of the sweet Bird;

‎whose music lightens and puts me at ease.

‎only, the evening tides disturb this calm.

‎

‎Trees rustle; yet ignore the Wind’s strides,

‎the Storms made them lie low and murmur,

‎they cheer the warmth of evening tides.

‎if only they knew; the Wood-cutter draws near.

‎

‎A quiet Stream flowed by my house,

‎it splashes when the morning wakes,

‎little creatures stream through its water.

‎who is to dissuade the Fisher that lurks?

Oh, the Storms raged a while ago;

‎they crashed and flashed— hell let loose.

‎the water in my house was ever quiet,

‎hushing the fearful waves without.

A fateful morning, Lightning split the sky,

‎it was terrible— ah, my frightened soul!

‎my heart clenched; forbidding a howl,

‎still the thunder roars, like a lion enthroned.

‎‘Keep your soul at peace,’ Mother says,

‎‘allay hunger, build a house that is warm;

‎the taller, the better— yet make it firm.

‎water and air, the lands you walk are mine’.

‎

‎‘Let us ascend the mountains’ said a friend,

‎he felt misplaced amid the city’s clamor.

‎what if I tire, what if I stumble and fall?

‎it matters not; I only seek the Height of all.

‎

‎Life has a song— paired with a dance:

‎She says delight, yet sends forth Storms;

‎She bids us ascend, then return to Dust.

‎She says all change endures but for awhile.

Life took away the breath She gave!

‎‘nay, never bewail my sweet child’ She says,

‎‘splendid the miracles of every morning,

greater still is that wonder whispering ‘Revive’’.

‎

‎Here Life, All-Mother, reigns— comely as a Queen,

‎to condemn, to bless; at a fleeting whim,

‎‘should you ever slumber yet never wake,

‎surely rest on beneath the mortal Dust’.

‎

‎The Bird still sings— sonorous as before,

‎unaware the Fall is near— trees cheer on,

‎the wandering Wind whooshes along,

‎the morning still stirs creatures awake.

‎

‎Storms be quiet, Life commends the steadfast;

‎what I longed for: mastery over the sky,

‎the house I built basks in this same light,

‎in the mountains— I was lifted to Height.

‎

‎Ascent or Dust, the short-lived bids no joy;

‎this knowledge conceived even more toil.

‎Wanderer I was, I am, may this remain;

‎I was here, I am here, I hope I never fade.