The Sparrow
When the shadows, then darkness
hide the colors of the day,
And a serene Sunday morning
steals the spirit's faith away.
When the last dream is a memory
And there is no place to go,
And the warmest summer breezes
Have become the winter snow.
Can a tiny mottled sparrow,
With its wings of feathers fair,
Lift a heart so bold and daring
Up to fly in frozen air.
Will he see beyond the valley
Of the wicked and the sin.
And can he rise above the searing pain
that drives him down again.
So, bind my heart with threads of iron,
Seal my fate with lore.
Leave my soul in hells of fire,
Then let me soar once more!
Francis J Grasso © 02.26.2020
Copyright © Francis J Grasso | Year Posted 2020
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment