How many tombs have seen the hands of robbers
felt the soot and scar of their steps
and how many birds were lost from the sky
because of fear and cynicism
I wouldn't ask to be an ancient princess
or a wren with wings enough to fly
there's already too many of my own indiscretions
I've forgotten how to hold dear
Egyptian rings and headdresses made hollow
birds are meant to fly so what
do you call a feathered wren who can't help
that he'd rather instead watch clouds pass
from the dusty undergrowth?