I tried to catch a wind;
I thought it was for me,
But it would not be pinned.
Then now for me to leave!
Move now to the sea?
Can I take the tree?
But neither stay so long nor near
To be my cup of tea.
Surely, I am not as that crow,
Nor as squeaky squirrel, nor wide eyed fish,
They have no Reason to search as we do,
They know their end, that's just their tea.
But these all things are at my feet,
To bring me to my lasting feast.
Who will teach me of what feats
Are kept for me to go defeat?
Where's my den and where my meat?
Where's my flying fake bone treat?
To think how easy it does seem-
I just as well should be a pig!
But then I think of future days
And why it is that I still stay- nay!
If my big 'fate' was quite the same
As that of cranes, deep in a train
I wouldn't so unlike them be,
To scrape and seek in scrutiny
A something of our life's bloods worth
That's true and real but buried in dirt.
I need something that I don't have;
Evasive thing that's in no can,
Within no stand? upon no road?
But am I sure? Oh, what a toad!-
To think I know what's where.
Above and see the people crammed
Along the roads and at the stands.
My whining now seems childish,
Though that's okay- as child I am.
But am I as a child to stay?
Some think this is the only way.
But they are cats who only pay
Attention to the laser ray.
Others say we must look up
That seat which to ourselves are cut,
But weeds amidst the wheat will put
Dark, curling in my bedroom nook.
Keep it straight that precious claw,
That wing I never did see caw.
Wind of mine will soothe the fever, tear out trees from earths great hold.
Sea of mine will meet the sky,
And dwell again in that same joy.
Tree of mine will take His hand,
That crossed the weeds to make His home,
And brings that light- above the stars,
To teach me how to be His own.
© 2017 Marianne Hingert