“i’ve been trying to tell you”

“won’t you listen?” the little finch messaged.

“i never go long without a cool place to dip my beak.

my wings they lift when the canine and the feline pounce.

my feather’s ruffle, but my little ones feed in their wooden needle circles.”

the branch bowed up and down as he spoke.

“you love my pinioned coat, as i stand against the watery sky.

but do you reckon my worth compared to yours? don’t you remember the words which sprouted from His lips?”

the little falcon would not stop his tweet:

“I am the manifestation, of gentle love for little things.

but you are are the princes of time. We, the pretty flutters you’d admire, we know nothing of those crowns of light you soon wear.”

the warbler was ruffled, but truth was in it’s eye, aheart in its song.

“only sing your own allegiance” it scolded.

“surrender your flights through the gratitude in your large great hearts”

“we long for such things” sang out the little chirper.

“All of nature is watching”

“and even some things a bit higher than that”

he flitted off, that sparrow of color.

and I was a lone again, to contemplate my role, both big and small, on this marble so crazily falling through space . . .