from 'While Passing Through'/Winter
Trees stript—bitter winds—
the sparrows somehow make it—
what of us?
thank you, frank. i'm glad you enjoyed it. yes, if we're stript of all we trusted in, can we, how will we survive, act... i don't remember you commenting on my poems before, so... nice to meet you here in poemhunter. -glen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Somehow we make it too. But also stript of something each year, I think.
i've wondered about this for years- how the birds who winter here endure it. (although usually winters here are comparatively mild.) sparrows, specifically, came to mind which, afterwards, i connected with jesus saying that the Father is aware of every one of them and cares even more for us. there's also a hymn with the title, his eye is on the sparrow. thanks for your comments, laurie. may we be found trusting till the end. -glen