A story that could be true, by William Stafford

If you were exchanged in huge cradle and
Your real mother died
Without ever telling the story
Then no one knows your name,
And somewhere in huge world
Your father is lost and needs you
But you are far away.

He can never find
How true are, how ready.
When the great wind comes
And the robberies of the rain
You stand on the corner shivering.
The people who go by – –
You wonder at their calm.

They miss the whisper that runs
Any day in your mind,
“Who are you really, wanderer?”- –
And the answer you have to give
No matter how dark and cold
The world around you is:
“Maybe I’m the king.”