I thought I was so tough, but, gentled by your hands,
cannot be quick enough to fly for you and show
that when I go I go at your commands.
There was a time when I gave orders, made demands,
when everyone who heard my name was cowed.
I, once, was thought so tough. Now, gentled by your hands,
I jump to your requests as if entranced.
Resigned, delighted at my overthrow:
now, when I go, I go at your command.
You set the rhythm and I dance your dance:
you script the drama I jump to run through.
What once was tough goes gentle at your hands.
I, who was feared, fearful of your glance,
cast down the head I held high, my eyes lowered,
humbly going only when commanded.
Do you like what you've tamed? The catch you've landed?
Enjoy it while it lasts. All falcons know:
however tough, how strong the gentling hands,
it's we, the thrown, in going, who command.
.
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