Sparrows Fall





No one saw the sparrows fall
or noticed when they ceased to call.
For weeks their flinty beaks were still,
unable to announce the kill.

At night a wanderer fleeting past
saw the feathers in the grass,
felt the first foreboding chill
at tiny corpses on a hill.

Stumbled back when at his feet
bony wings began to beat.
Launched into the moonless sky
a flock of things that would not die.

So have a care when sparrows fall;
they may not be true birds at all,
only husks of restive dead
who fly a darker path instead.


2 thoughts on “Sparrows Fall

  1. Rhonda Parrish says:

    I was going to comment and say ‘That’s really nice’ but then, upon further contemplation, I’m not sure ‘nice’ is a word one should use to refer to a poem about (un)dead birds…

    I liked it though 😉

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