The Nest Disappears

Aaron Zeitlin

1939

(Written at the end of 1939 in Havana—with thoughts about Poland)

Our poor nest eternally atremble
in the wind.
What will happen now, in bloody storm,
mayn kind?
Now, in bloody storm . . . ?
The tree will fall, fall
mayn kind.
And our nest—in the storm—will be lost,
mayn kind.
Our nest, from the storm, will be gone.
I see new nests on young…
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