Sparrows fly to and from a tall tree behind my apartment
Near where you’d often come through my back door
bringing me bags of food
and your love
The birds fly up onto the nearby roof of my building
or dash this way and that
into other trees
to the east
and to the west
looking for twigs
or food
or better views, perhaps,
on this world
we’re all living in
You were a sparrow.
A small, graceful bird,
always moving,
always searching
flying high
bringing those you met
a glimpse of a blue sky
Filed under:
Art and Culture, Poetry