There is what you want,
And there is what you settle for,
The bird you try to catch,
And the one that winds up
In your hands.

One may have borne you
On its back,
Across seas and summer fields
To its eyrie
In the peaks of your desire.

The other, well,
It sits there,
And maybe gives you eggs,
Or just turds,
But it is yours,
To feed and care for,

Or pluck and eat,
If you think you are
Still brave and nimble enough
To grab golden feathers
In the wind.