Hundreds of Sparrows

Every hair on your head is counted

You are worth hundreds of sparrows

The tree you planted has become fecund

With kamikaze humming birds

Wings of hundreds of beats per second

Of 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