22 Mar Breath of the Cantor

My body is not unalike the cantor whose mastery high
Can turn a same breath to make melody from air
Though for she can delight angels with her treble fair
Something she has, I have not, and I beg thee why
Practice perhaps, disciplined lungs, answers dry
Which thought not, coped not nor could credibly care
That the principle extends into love and will and prayer
Indeed the question persists, the same rules apply
When it comes to comparing Jesus Christ and I
Whom I call holy, divine, Whom I believe and beware
Lived without pride and without once coming to err
And tread upon death because even knowing I must die
Stopped me not from rebelling, and I beg thee why
I would not as I should, and chose always the fowler’s snare

Nay I know, for the will is as fire in a canticle’s breath
A wanderer, o wanderer, who fell in love with death