After John Bunyan
My Mužka (‘little fly’ in Czech)
Goes softly but she goeth sure.
She stumbles not as larger creatures do,
Her journey’s shorter so she may endure
More puissant than do those who further go.
Right at my feet she canny curls,
She makes no noise but delicately paws
The bony beast appointed for her meal,
Feeds quiet, a marvel of containment.
Her modest inch of soul shines clear
From liquid eyes, the tail divine wags
Neither fast nor slow but sure.
Most certain is it that for those who journey so,
The victor’s garland they will fast procure.
Fay Zwicky died on 2 July 2017, the day after publication of The Collected Poems of Fay Zwicky (UWA Publishing).