A poem about a bird. |
She sits alone along a river on a lonely mountaintop The winter's wind brushes by her as tears begin to drop The lovely river soothes no longer as we've come to see The little sparrow wishing she could just sit in a tree The road got rough, the gales blew hard and flowers, they did die The angry world looked inward crying, "Sparrow! Why do you lie?" Innocent and late one night she took flight to the sea Seeking comfort away from those who would not let her be But alas, there had to come the day the buzzards broke her wing They found her bathing in the sea; she was just about to sing They pecked and kicked until she was crimson with much despair And when they left, her lame wing hung; she didn't even care But then she vowed to avenge the death of her precious little wing She set off on foot, an uphill battle, and before her eyes was Spring The king of all seasons returned to take her up that mountain She would soon forget what it was like to drink from a fountain For the crisp mountain river has it all if one is so keen To perceive its gifts - and she did, my friend - her eyes saw the unseen Yet the little sparrow still wishes she could just sit in a tree But she is at peace and she knows that from this place she'll never flee |