Hundreds Of Sparrows

Every hair on your head is counted

You are worth hundreds of sparrows

The tree you planted has become fecund

With a kamekaze of humming birds



Wings of hundreds of beats per second

By people whose wings are just a blur

Afraid our eyes might become impaled

By their sharp and tiny beaks



I'm so sorry

My spirit's rarely in my body

It wanders through the dry country

Looking for a good place to rest

Your head upon my chest

And I can feel the pillow of your breast



You are worth Hundreds of Sparrows