Flocks of birds,
all shapes and sizes,
squawk and cry to each other,
except you.
You are the tiny sparrow hiding amongst the others.

You don't speak usually,
but when you do,
the others cover up that beautiful voice of yours, more precious than all the rest.

You are soft spoken,
because you are a sparrow.

Still,
you are more precious than anything else in existence,
though you are unnoticed by most.
Your day will come,
but until then,
sing.
I will listen,
-to myself-
forever.