THE SPARROW
Little bird of dusty brown,
Why do you stay here in town,
In the noise and dirt and heat
Hopping in the ugly street?
Other songsters choose to go
Where the grass and clovers grow,
Where the dew is on the hill
And the shady woods are still;
Where the baby rivers skip,
And the cool green mosses drip.
There to-morrow I shall be!
Sparrow, do you envy me?
Saucy bird, alert and quick,
Lingering on stone and brick—
Little children linger too,
Who perhaps are fond of you;
Pale and pitiful to see,
Sick and sorry too, maybe.
They can dream, but never stray
Where the ferns and daisies play.
All the sultry summer through
They will hear no bird but you,
Cheap and common, sharp and shrill,
Chirping, chirping, chirping still,
Picking bugs and crumbs and things.
Yet—you have the gift of wings!
They can see you dart and fly
Free and high to tree and sky—
Only little comrade given
Who can bring them news of heaven!
Sparrow, though I run away,
Is that why you choose to stay?