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Saturday, April 3, 2010

Poem: The Little Birds of Francis

The little birds fly to ask me what I have seen in the heavens: I saw your little souls long.

Our feeble wings
knock against
a blue windowpane, Lord.
We wait, we sing
every day at your door.

We gaze at the sun,
above the trees flutter
and sing since the dawn.
Are we forever
to linger on earth
in this world of yours, Lord?

There is no penance,
Is there no reward?
Lost in our song,
one day of the year
among the trees, we'll expire,
entangled in the leaves.

The wind will lift us,
the earth will receive us
buring the dry wings.
Will none of us, Lord
sing in the heavens
facing your throne?

Is not our singing,
pleasing to you, Lord?
Our singing choose,
Our waiting use.
From the unknown,
deliver the birds on high, Lord.

From the ends of the earth
unbounded and vast,
from pine and beech
from our home
we'll fly, we'll flutter
to your side, Lord.

Whatever your will -
too deep for the birds -
on earth and in heaven
your eyes to please,
your smile to see,
we wing, crowding in the trees

by Jerzy Liebert

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