Come, little sparrow,
perch upon my windowsill.
I would whisper to you through the pane
my hurried thoughts and deeply pondered dreams.
I seek solace in your humble song –
those wholesome notes may harmonise
my melancholic malady,
bringing succour to my cold, beleaguered mind.
The air is barely bothered by your flight
but beneath your softly feathered breast
I know there beats an eagle’s heart.
No garish parrot’s plume can match
the gentle pleasance of your earthly hue,
and the swift swallow wishes
it possessed your careful poise.
Fly, little sparrow,
do not linger with this base and selfish creature.
My window is but one dull breach
in a world of others more enticing.
Flock with your familiars and
tend your cherished nest –
all I ask is absolution if
I fix an eager eye on your return.
R. P. Burley