creativity · life · nature · poetry · writing

No More Than a Sparrow

No more than a sparrow, am I
numbered among the ordinary;
brightly I sing, though inwardly shy
of people and shadows I am wary.

Numbered among the ordinary
I flit about virtually unseen –
of people and shadows I am wary,
head down I carry out my routine.

I flit about virtually unseen,
require little to make me content;
head down I carry out my routine
forage between furrow and cement.

Require little to make me content,
brightly I sing though inwardly shy,
forage between furrow and cement,
no more than a sparrow, am I.

(dVerse’s form of the month is the Pantoum. ┬áImage is from my own collection.)