The Thoughts of a Mediocre (I)

A Sparrow perched upon me.

Shifting, groaning uncomfortably

I hoped its company be brief.

 

Not for any hidden grudge,

But for my rifts and slits and splits,

My jagged chinks and missing links,

That parade my insignificance.

 

Yet came a mighty wind,

And frantic clasps and desperate grasps

Of young Sparrow’s feet.

And so.

My rifts and slits and splits,

My jagged chinks and missing links

Might not be a beauty,

But through them

At least I found,

That Sparrow kept his ground.

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