I've longed for a morning of quiet such as this
When ears that are rattled by jangling of trains
Are calmed by the warbles of birds.
And now as I bask in the sunlight on steps,
With eyes full of trees blooming bright,
From corners of gaze leak shadows I've known
And act out in rooms, the scenes I've played
With costumes I knew not I had.
And even as I marshal my tools rather fast,
To build up my fence or cote, flat or fold
They leap over walls as masterless horse
And stride towards unforeseen fields.
Left without harness or halters that fit,
I'm stunned by the prospect of plays that'll come
And burn all my scripts up in flames.
The morning now shrieks with discordant hoots
As a blind owl gropes for its nest.