The fly behind the window pane,
Would seem to struggle free in vain.
But struggles only she with me,
And does so very powerfully.
It's help she needs from me or death,
She lacking human cleverness.
But if I fling the door ajar,
I now become her avatar.
She my queen and I her slave,
She my column's architrave.
Could God have made a mind for me,
To make me serve, not make me free?
To serve both fly and old narwahl,
And creatures big, and creatures small?
They bargain hard, they bargain thus:
Face death of world or obey us.