Menial

The soul’s a hovering,

Solicitous servant

Attendant on the life—

Is the body in pain,

Comfortable, content?

Is everything lonely,

Are the clouds blue, the wet

Leaves left on the saplings

Yellow, the puddles bright?

Is the world bearable

For another morning,

Barring some misfortune?

The attendant nothing

But attention, the wisp

Asking, what would you like?