Sing For Your Supper

Imagine that singing
is how you make your life--
each day, year by year.
The sky above you is blue.
Clouds billow
like white dresses.
They are yours though
you do not own them.
Your voice flickers
like a pinwheel of color.
Old uncle has his tune,
as do your sisters
and cousins. Every question
has its answer.
Songs, little melodies,
are your job,
for which you never
earn any money.
You live in a house
in a tree.
Rarely do your feet
touch the ground.
Imagine!