Monday, October 28, 2013

Crumbs From the Master's Table

Floating on the ocean
As sea-craft sail on by
For so long treading water
Too tired to wonder why
The few that let me rest myself
Resented it in turn
As though they thought me  negligent
To leave my aching churn.

Perhaps they thought they saw a ship
Not unlike their own
Where safety, love, and family held
And I like traitor flown.
But if there ever was such ship
My place was galley slave
To row or tug or slop or scout
But never freedom gave.

But now cut free the truth is such -
I've ever orphan been
To wander oft from home to home
In hope I'd catch them when
They had a crust of love to share
A welcome, word, or rest
'Fore they recall I'm not their own
And shoo me from the nest.

For orphans live on scavenged meals
And rags and scattered floors
So long as someone finds a need
In extra random chores.
Ever moving, shifting, change
Gives safety and makes stable
By making sure to glean the crumbs
From many a master's table.

<written 2/25/2013>

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