A Walk Through a Small Yard After the First Snow

When the faith of my parents

clashes with the darkness of my peers,

I look to the sparrow

who is not worried with the way things were

but instead in the way things are.

As their waxed wings are not carried

by the winds of the past,

but by the present breeze

delivering them into a new home

between the snowy cleft of the great white oak.