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.



2/18/02