Poetry in Narrative.

A Sparrows Dream.

A Sparrows Dream.

As a tiny sparrow came in to land;

I meditated for a moment's time and

wondered where it had flown into from?

Or would it go with the morning's sun?

It was making the best of its timely season;

be it sunny or rainy, it worked with reason.

I watched it closely as not to scare.

But, he didn't seem to much care.

A blade, some sticks, straw for a home.

Nestled tightly together, one swish and gone.

A beautiful sight as its small world went by

I felt a warmness, I let out a sigh.

Clearly a singer, chirping at will.

One at first, then along came two.

Taking its time, an artificer in craft

it made a nest for its upcoming brood.

In careful arrangement it chirped out its need.

Alive in tranquility, high in that willow tree.

Its young ones would soon learn how to speak.

Composers of song heard by the ears of the meek.

Like fitting into the customs of country glades.

Another season of living, soon they'd fly away.

Like tiny shepherds inside its own district of gates.

Only one tiny foothold, no worries, only fate.

Feathered and feeding, fowl cleansing to please;

like dissolving droplets they hung on to cleave.

Before I could drag my new found treasure to pen;

that family of sparrows scattered out once again.

Maybe I was lucky to witness this tiny world unfold.

It was never a hindrance, for their story is now told.

Be thankful for the small things that come in and go.

Be it rainy, sunny, or blistering cold.

A.o.R.