Titmouse (after Rilke’s “Mesange”)
Little heart, with us you endure
the cold days of the year
as life’s tender lantern
perched on a tree in tears.
*
Through your thick plumage I see
the fire that gives you light.
Mine, though veiled by fog,
will also outlast the night.
*
Does the snow fear the morning?
It crusts over in vain;
but we will have joy tomorrow,
protected by our flame.
