I envy that small creature
carried by the wind to wherever
he decides is suitable for rest
Yes, gliding about the earth
how much he must see in a day
and how big it must seem, too
He seems to love life, greatly,
always singing as he sweeps by
overhead… chirping, whistling
It seems to me, that it seems
to him… life is a wonder to
rejoice in and explore always
And I would like to sing about it
but I have not the time; I am
not free to soar above humanity
No, I am stuck in it for now,
and it restricts life, though
I am not sure it should. It does.
It leaves little for singing,
less for exploring on a whim.
Oh, I dream of flying, like him.
And perhaps they will let me,
someday, when I am expired,
and useless. Dead I bet.
Maybe then. How I shall sing.
Like him I shall rejoice in life,
just as soon as this one ends.