The Sparrow

I see you, little sparrow,
balanced on a sapling’s sway,
a scrappy volunteer, sprung
from some windblown, random day.

You peer at me through the lattice,
leaves dancing with sunlight’s play.
Your feathers flash like quiet sparks—
a pause before you fly away.

My dog is clueless, nose to the ground,
tracking scents the wind has drawn.
You hold your perch, a steady rhythm,
a heartbeat between dusk and dawn.

What’s your secret, tiny watcher,
carved from grit and quiet grace?
Are you here to remind me:
there’s beauty in every small place?

Stay there, a moment longer,
before this moment shifts and fades.
Your stillness is a kind of language,
one I’ll learn someday.