The Sparrows’ Song

The sparrows flitAmidst autumn grovesOf ash and of oak.Their songs slipLike a gossamer breezeThrough the branches,Whose outstretched armsEmbrace the tuneWith rosy fingers splayed. Beneath the boughs,On a bed of moss,I drift into reverie.The shade is thick,The leaves fall,And the sparrows sing on. I listen with one ear perkedAnd another nestled in dirt.Sleep will take me.Winter … More The Sparrows’ Song