Upon the sod, a sparrow softly lies
To rest his red-crowned head in lasting sleep
While there about him, weeds and shrubs arise
And grow a mausoleum. As asleep,
The crimson prince, whose deftly-written song
Pervaded ‘cross the yard, o’er which there loomed
A broad and leafless tree where, midst a throng
Of other birds, he’d sing, now lies entombed
Beside its many roots, his trifling cast
Slow fading into dust. Yet if he sang,
I heard it not. What melodies shall last,
If even poesy from a bird that sprang
Promethean in tune into this sphere
Should go unheard? And so I stand, and hear.
1 comment:
Beautifully mournful and expressive with excellent imagery. The sparrow as a figure is so representative of mankind, it seems, and he is here portrayed as a "crimson prince" singing unheard and returning to his dust. What a tribute to the mythological tales! Is that what laces your work? Lovely, I like it.
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