The Sparrow

Resplendent love but not
Resplendent mine, if shifts
From the North to colder
Southern climes.

In passing resplendent but
Not where the sun does
Shine, I pass through
Numerous grasses kind.

Who is to determine where
I should next move? To
Wear thin the burrow of
This next groove.

In sight of sparrows flight
I know I shall weep
For how I resent flight
Whilst I do creep.

Have I not learnt from
Past unmoved that in
This present I should remove
From company with which I share

The sparrow’s scorn,
The sparrow’s glare.

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