The song sparrow
Sits in our hand
We can feel its feathers
And its fragile bones
We brush our fingers
Over its face
Wishing it to sing
We like the sound of her song
It is something we held
In times before
We have spent decades
Bent over on the porch
Swinging on the chair
Listening to the bugs
The song of endless summer
The air is cool
The sky clear
We lift our hand up
But the song sparrow
Does not fly away
We can share in her beauty
For a moment longer
I look at Alice's face
She smiles quietly
And it brushes off on me
All is gentle
Sweet and true
We love the song sparrow
And think it loves us too.
This is sweet. And more sweet. I have lived almost every moment of your words. I have listened intently to the song of endless summer and wondered at it. I have seen the sky you speak of, and Alice, by another name, smiled at me. But the sparrow....it lives in a hedge outside my bedroom window, in a tiny nest, and I can hear its song each morning. And it fills me with joy. There is nothing so beautiful as birdsong. Perfect ink here!
ReplyDeleteI LOVE this poem. You had me at the title. This poem was a pleasure to read - the small bird, loving and being loved. So sweet, Jae. One of my very favourites.
ReplyDeleteI find all your poetry beautiful – and this one very special indeed; magical.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful gentle poem...Thank you.
ReplyDeleteYou create such gentle scenarios. Such a gift!
ReplyDeleteHow great to have a sparrow come and sit in your hand. They are so delicate and yet so resourceful.
ReplyDeleteAww, I love this! ^__^
ReplyDelete