The Window

A Poem

The window out of which I peer
Affords me an escape;
From what I hope to flee is fear
So the window stays agape.

Among the many sights
I have witnessed from this spot
Was a lark lamenting lost delights:
The nest he now has not.

For the winds of some fierce storm
Tore his home asunder
And cast his feathered form
Into the rain and thunder.

This bird of the birch,
Having had his fill,
Fluttered to a perfect perch:
My wooden windowsill.

His tempest-tossed talons
Tapped along the wood
As if maddened by maledictions,
Which I well understood.