The Sparrow
Outside my ancient window
The tiny sparrow
Awakens to the morning
As if released
From endless hibernation
He soars
In voice
On wing
To venerate
And adulate
The rekindling
Of the flame
Seeking ever joyfully
The nectar of the day
Despite the touch of death
In each leaf
That falls
From trembling boughs
And the early frost
The icy fingers
That chill him
To his marrow
The sparrow
This tiny sparrow
His song
Uninterrupted
Is gently roused
From his womblike nest
His cheerful tune
A joyous tapestry
Of shining
Sparrow dreams
Misinterpreted
As a blossoming
Regardless
That the fickle hand of time
Is turning the days
And seasons over
Heedless
Of the rituals of darkness
Before the light
And the days
Nearer to death
Than to life
Thunder sounds
In the encroaching darkness
That is ever relentless
The candles flicker
At dusk
And the trees
Like bony fingers
Are scratching
On the panes
Yet the sparrow
The tiny sparrow
With his pretty song
Casts the circle
In the waning light
Deceptively fleeting
Like wishes
On the wind
© Ann Bagnall 2014.
Wonderful Annie!!
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Thanks Blair!
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Wonderful poem Annie!
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Thanks again! 🙂
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