The Comfort of Poetry

Sometimes, I feel like a bird hiding Under a thin hollow of a leaf The bird which blinks at the sun When a branch moves and starts At a crack of a dry twig Sometimes, I feel so abandoned, So tormented, surrounded by The huge trees, by big clouds Of a callous, cruel world But when I remember my poems I see little flowers out of the grass Like floating lamps, I can smell the sweet scent Of lime trees in June I can hear the skylark`s morning song And many birds fly above my head, Trembling, painfully drawing out These profound truths Which need an enormous effort To speak out But here they are, comforting me, Telling me that heaven is Divinely merciful, infinitely benignant For it has spared me, Pardoned my weakness