A bird, with pointed sculls
And long wedged rudder,
Went rowing overhead,
Like a tractor’s buzz
Its silent flight coursed
Resolute to the mountain.
Birds know,
Where to go.
Were I a bird
I should have blithe purpose,
Blind, blessed,
Vocational objectives,
And strong wings to beat out
Rhythm of my calling,
Taking me nearer,
Always nearer,
And I would know
Where to go
From here.
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