I am just an umbrella on a heavy rain.
You may seat at my shadow until the storm is passed,
Or I am passed on the next page,
A page so long that you may need an after, above, before, and under all.

I may be the driver of a very small car.
But I borrow someone's else hands, eyes, heart, and mind to drive it.
I know only the destination, not the way until the next stop.
You may go with me, if you want.
But our car will be crowded as the door is kept open for all.

I may be also a fish in your dish.
And I pray that, even roasted, I may be fresh for your soul.

For the soldier the size is a big target.
I desire an ant's ego to escape all wants,
To be easily molded as sand in the pavement of your way,
To fall under foot,
And not hit it as a stone.

I am many times an overloaded tree
With black birds on my branches.
This is why my leaves cry to the sky their worries
And the birds shift to the sky.
As the rain falls head down on my trunk,
I choose to remain standing.
Let the wind shout!
Better to die fighting that to flee what I cannot escape.
I am from the same forest with the tree which pierced the earth and the sky.