The Servant's Ace

There's a bird, fair and gold, whom my owners do hold.

She refuses to make them a sound.

How it pains them to think that for me she does sing

While I carry their riches around

I might work in their fields, bear them their meals

I might carry the letters they send.

There's a treasure, I know, buried deeply below

That will shatter the shovels of men

There are children of theirs in the bedroom upstairs.

I taught them their letters and words.

They refuse to be heirs and inherit their share

Of a fortune that they never earned

I might sleep in their fold, do as I'm told.

I might shepherd the young that they tend.

There's a silence I leave in the spaces between

That will shadow the lessons of them

I might meet on the shores they defend

Handle the money they lend

I might shackle the hands they condemn

There's a treasure, I know, buried deeply below

That will shatter the shovels of men

There's a bird, fair and gold

Whom my owners do hold

She refuses to make them a sound