Friday, March 23, 2012
An old sparrow has made its home
In a dark corner of my room.
Winter’s already here
And all the birds have gone
To warmer southern lands.
At the break of cold dawn
We both wake to the sound
The wind makes through the trees.
Perhaps it brings messages
From sparrows in sunny lands
Resting by the sparkling streams
And distant grass laden fields.
It whispers secrets in my ear too,
Talking of friends I see no more.
Thus, for one moment, we two
Are bound by all that is sacred:
Two refugees by the wayside,
In bitter cold by barren fields,
Recalling a summer that is no more,
Citizens of a town that will never be.