Bare trees under a requiem of clouds.
Snow. Over the ground a gaggle of geese
Hustles across an expanse of nothing”
They haven’t a prayer; not a kernel
Breaks through dirt; no hand scatters a repast.
The multitudinous graves of the good
Do not flare into flower. Sorrow
Lays itself down like an ancient Greek plot.
”But the boy has bought ballons, a bounty
Of faith tied with blue ribbon. He scribbles
Love’s postscript in neon magic marker
Then lets them go, robustly, “to Father,”
Launching them from this lanscape of thunder
Into the starred theatre he calls heaven.
Dear Reader,
Can I be direct with you?
War abroad. Socialists on the rise. AI upending human life. Endless uproar online. The modern attention economy doesn’t want readers — it wants users enslaved to the tyranny of the present.
First Things is the antidote: literary excellence, timeless truths, and a fixed point of reference in a culture that has lost its bearings.
But we can’t do it without readers like you.
Our goal: Raise $150,000 by November 1 to sustain First Things in the year ahead.
Your gift anchors readers in the permanent things.
Make your Fall Campaign gift now using the button below.
If you have any questions or would like more information, please contact Giovanni Del Piero, Director of the Editor’s Circle, at gdelpiero@firstthings.com or 212-627-1985.
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