Sparrow

In a part of the world ancient to some,
A sparrow laden with pity suffers.
The wound it bears will soon deliver doom,
Wrapping its clotted feathers in silence.
Its song is shrill; it dies off in the air,
So that this fate will be one of solace.
All around the giants stand, cut and sheafed,
Witnesses of the earth, cold, still, silent.
Now it lies beaten by the life it loved,
Its heavy breath joined with agony's weight,
And the spirit in its eyes is buried
Under some dire trauma no one shall know.
For all the places it has flown,
Still it dies alone.

6/22/05