The sparrows curve on burring wings
around up-reaching of the thorn,
delight me with their flutterings:
soft-thrill of wings these days adorn.
Deep within the hedge their nest
is hidden by full-sprung thorn leaf;
green-walled late April must be best:
let secrets built be safe from grief.
I would if I had wards of words
lay incantations on this thorn
against those snooping predators:
'Pied burglars, suck no life unborn!'
................................
