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Bruce Cockburn
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Life's Mistress
She is passing in a warm breeze
Bars of light that cross the floor
One smoke-gray, curled, tiny feather
Skips aside
By her middle hang the keys
Made to open any door
Even the one that lets in the cold wind
From outside
She lives in a house of colour
Guarded by cats three in number
And one great dog of gentle manner
In among the trees
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Silence
Carries
No apprehension here
In the warm sun
By the window sill
I can just sit still
And watch her go by...
Queen of field and forest pathway
Understands the speech of stones
She weaves peace upon her loom
Life's mistress
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