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The Little Sparrow
One June morning, the wind came sharp,
And it warned me not to the best;
As I dreamt of venturing long and far,
I rode away from my mother’s nest.
I was light and thus need not fear-
Of falling to the far-off ground;
The wind was strong and it was sheer,
I never worried if I wouldn’t be found.
All the while, I glimpsed the world, steady-
Beneath feet immersed in the clouds;
Gliding with wings not yet ready-
Veiled by the wisps of floating shrouds.
I rode with the wind and o’er the seas,
And saw a silver fleet of fish;
Between the hills, beneath the trees:
Believing God must have heard my wish.
As the mellow sun softly turned to red,
The wind was fading amongst the clouds:
Overwhelmed, was I, with fear and dread,
I started spiraling towards the ground.
All the beauty around me now,
Spun 'round and mocked my wings-
That flapped while I wondered how-
I could tie this broken string.
I sniffed the wind rushing away,
And the ground nearing close-
And then I wished how I’d stayed,
Firmly clung to my little home.
Just when all hope seemed to be gone,
I felt my feet ‘come steady;
I saw myself in my mother’s arm-
“Son, you're still not ready.”