Lilies of the Field

You knew she was a saint because the birds trusted her.

And the flowers in the fields
leaned in her direction as if wishing to be blessed,
although they might have been saying,

We ask for nothing but what we have,
which is why we are not anxious for our lives.

You wanted to be different,
but look at yourself––you are the same as your father.

And absence?
Doesn’t it drive everything into your dreams?

Doesn’t it only pretend to release you?

And when Death explains
what you must become, you reply:
But you only believe in one kind of destiny.
And Death replies: I believe in everything.

And the ghost of your father says:
Take your longing away––
it won’t help either of us now.

Which is why men cling to the idea of change.

Consider the lilies of the field––
how God so loves them that even
the greatest king could never be arrayed
like one of these.

Look how the quiet morning
allows them to live,
how the woman pauses among them,
how chance troubles them as little as fate,

since unlike yourself
they do not dream
nor are they anxious for their lives.