And isn’t everything risk?
The beloved lives
Then dies,
Then (if we’re lucky)
Rises again
Into a poem or song
Or into the world
In some other form
Impossible to predict.
Simplest story, oldest tale:
Sparrows sing it
From every hedge;
And swallows, also,
From their nests on the ledge.
Copyright © 2026 by Gregory Orr. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 16, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
