Of all, it is the blackbirds I envy most,
Soaring aloft, unburdened, not alone, but in joyful flocks,
Bold and assured in their very existence,
Tracing dances in the sky, surely aware of our awe-struck gaze.

Yet, none of this is the root of my envy.

Have you watched them on a weary Monday?
Have you seen them as spring mornings break?
While the world rushes frantic, noisy and lost in its own storms of worry,
Have you noticed the blackbirds? Do they fret over their daily bread?

Do they labor at a job? Or possess some promised meadow,
Where abundance awaits them each dawn?
Why do they sway and flutter with joy at first light?
Do they know with certainty where their sustenance lies?

Tell me, dear blackbird, does not the setting sun trouble your heart?
Do you not fear the gnaw of hunger as night descends?
What of your nest? Might you return to ruin,
And find, to your dread, no shelter for the evening?

Tell me, do you not fear at all? Do you not worry, dear blackbird?

You shame me, dear blackbird, for I worship the same Lord as you,
Yet before He feeds you, before He provides,
You sing with full-hearted praise and place your trust in Him.

I envy you, blackbird — you trust your Lord without doubt,
And your Lord has never let you hunger.
Today, I choose to be like you:
No worry, no anxiety, no fear of poverty —
For I too worship the very same Lord as you.