I did not want to fly with the eagles any more,
Or walk the beach.
I wanted to stay in my room and be quiet,
Sifting my life between my fingers like dry sand.
I wanted to close my shell again,
Return to what I was before I was born,
Where all my hopes and dreams were still not yet disproven,
Where failure and lessons were unknown.
But I did it anyway.
I chose a house up on a hill,
And now I fly with hawks.
Also, I walked barefoot through the surf,
Crushing a billion tiny clams
Because it is my nature—
you don't have to like your nature for it to be your nature—
And I liked it.
So, now, please,
You must excuse me,
For I see my prey among the scapes.
by Robert Hampton Burt