ON A POEM BY ROETHKE

The sparrow builds his nest,
and the wren sleeps in it.
The world is a nasty place
even for the human race.

The evening has now arrived.
It is the color of last year’s
sunset, a burnished gold.
It looks like something terribly old.

The street fills with snow,
And the wind noses through the street
like a hungry swine
searching for scraps to eat.

This winter is brutal, as it has
always been. And life
is short, and it is unwelcoming,
for sparrows as for men.




About the Author:
George Freek is a poet/playwright living in Belvidere, IL. His poems have recently appeared in The Stone Hobo, Red Fez, Symmetry Pebbles, Talon Magazine, Toucan Magazine, and The Whistling Fire. His short play HERE COMES GODOT was recently published in Freight Train Magazine. Other plays have lately been produced by Theatre Unleashed (LA); The Laurel Mill Playhouse (MD); The Auburn (NY) Community Players; Somerset College (KY); and The Fells Point Corner Theatre (MD).