The Sparrow
Micropoetry
Published in
Oct 29, 2021
The sparrow flies out
into the cold,
scorned,
abandoned —
soul lowly
and heart unseen.
Nobody will take this
little sparrow in,
for her feathers are plain
and bones brittle
and voice too soft to be heard.
She flies away
and bravely awaits
her dying day.
She may be dust to the earth,
but she is so much more
than dust to me.
