Look at the birds of the air;
they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns
And it is simple, I hear, to let go…
/(So you can breathe easy and
Unload the years of grief
That have settled between your
Shoulder blades and spread across
Consider the lily of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin
Because his hands are not there to rub
Them any longer. So the phantom pressures
Persist and bundle.
So they do. So they will.
Such is loss. Such is our endeavor.)\
…if only you give in, so living this way
Is always coming home.
About the Poet
William Sterne is not a poet, but a reader who was urged by his husband to try his hand at verse. This is the result. You can read more of his work on his husband’s poetry archive here.