For your Lord

For your Lord, 

Whose sun-shined shins

Rest on my head;

Who kindly throws me the scraps 

Of pickled cabbage and carrot skins;

Whose hunger-less nights 

Lighten mine.

For you Lord,

Glassy-haired and legs like fine lines

Whose soft hands stitch together 

Trials with no laws

And rules with no etching in the sand;

For my Lord 

That pays my wages

Button-like coins and tolled bell, 

Tucks my head in like a spell;

And I dream of sugar plums 

And the beating of a drum,

For me, my lord