The Gentle Sparrow

When you’re a sparrow, still chirp–and fly high.

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Amid November’s frost

The trees still stand

Their leaves still applaud

The blowing wind.

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On a tree’s branch

A sparrow chirps–soft, unsure,

Its sound unclear

But loud enough

For lost ears.

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None heralds the sparrow’s chirp.

None applauds its dull, brown wings.

It does not twitter for glory,

But sings softly.

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The sparrow flies,

Wings against wind.

Its song mingles

With frost-covered leaves—

A path in the dark.

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Behind the forceful black crow

A single sparrow flies

Its dull, brown head tipped

But held high

As it spreads its wings.

🕊️🍂🕊️🍂🕊️

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Please find a book of my horror microfiction, EchoesIf you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.