I’ve seen birds on top of piles of sack Lowly flying, outlining, choosing a site So many, many seeds scattered on the aisle Then they heard me clapped and flew up above.
I’ve seen a moth which life lasts only for months But do live by the moments and yet they last Leaving a mark of beauty, to those who wait For another pupa, be free of encasement.
Can I only choose what the bees have gathered? Can I only choose what seeds to be planted? And can I only choose sweet words to be uttered?