Our Meager Sigh
Once we knew what hand supplied our bread—
What eye laid beautiful our table of trees and flowers—
What ear gave voice to birdsong that we oversang—
What footsteps drawing near to hear our speech.
Once we relished feelings of approval—
Our hands plucking petals as a game—
Our eyes counting colors near and far—
Our lips dripping nectar that was sweet.
On a sudden it was traded to the thorns—
Knowledge gained was merely how to feel shame—
Good was found at labors hard and tiring to reach—
Bad came whistling daily—nightly—in between.
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