A King in Winter

Poemata C

Little king of song / could such a sparse net catch you / would your voice escape?

Eagle-rider who once pierced the clouds on high
Smallest of the kings,
Without the use of his wings;
Great and lumbering are all the beasts which sigh
Bodies built to lift,
Smallness instead was your gift;

Call out then and tell them with your twittering
If they are so wise,
Strength is not found in mere size;
But I fear their wisdom cannot know this thing
Heavy like their earth,
Spirit does not such give birth;

Legends tell of souls some heavy and some light
Rise and see the sun
Those for whom life's yet begun;
Feather-weight's a measure of the soul in flight
Will it be reborn
Soaring aloft whence was shorn?

Plain and unassuming still is jenny-wren
Giving us a pause
So reconsider God's laws?
Breath is spirit calling from the chests of men
Hidden is his heart
Glance of his eye may give start;

Jenny cannot fly beyond the mountain-tops
Rise only to fall,
On Whose succor may you call?
Lightest souls must fall where the heaven stops
Fall into the shade
Not of themselves be remade;

Take for you such nesting as is meet and right
Striving in your course
Kingdoms be taken by force;
Little kings they are who hearing, without sight
Know by what is said
One who gives life to the dead.

Author’s note: Several legends here. It’s uncertain if the first really pertains to the wren.