If reincarnation were to be true
(alas, it is but a children’s fable),
one could become a violet-tailed sylph,
which is a snazzy blue-green hummingbird
flitting on western slopes of the Andes,
feeding on pure nectar like the Greek gods
with no need to migrate from here to there,
taking pride in your seven, eight-inch tail
while meditating on morning mist, fog,
which is superior to the boob tube,
much more satisfying than tv news.
There would be no bills or taxes to pay.
One could breathe clear mountain air every day,
hum the sweet Buddhist manta of nectar.