Quiet… It comes… Do not frighten it.
Not a rustle. Barely breathe.
You have waited long. And wait still,
Do not rush, listen closely, expect.

Steps are not yet heard, nor words, nor a whisper,
Only a thought-feather has touched —
Do not drive it at once to a grinding,
So as not to startle, so it does not deflate.

Let there be noise in the yard
And the retinue ready to depart —
Calibrates the intention rightly
A conversation in the Holy of Holies.