The Sovereign Guest

A bird collects a single straw

And perches on the window of my soul.

I reach for it, yet find no way

To grasp its form or take control.

I wonder when the day will dawn

When I no longer chase its flight;

When, of its own accord, it comes

To settle in through the quiet night.

To sit upon my open palms

And grant me leave to hold it still—

To give me grace to do with it

Whatever I please, at my own will.

For since the hour that I was born,

This bird has held its sway over me;

I wait for when our roles may turn,

And the captive soul is finally free.