Thursday, September 04, 2003

Sparrow's Lament

The breeze screams reedy pain
Never then, to lift again
Brutal blue and tented high
The skies beckon with baited lie
The lifting rhythm, the twisting gyre
Gone in a moment, and then the mire
Hear now, the keening call
A small brown thing's howl
In heart-breaking harmony
She and the wind sing elegy
For her broken-winged memory.


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