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~ Poetry by me ~
A little sparrow felt the need
To find the thing called ‘air’,
But though his wish was deep indeed,
He knew not how or where.
His flight led to a garden patch,
And while he rested there,
He asked a nice plump veggie, “Sir,
What do you know of air?”
- “In all my years, feet in the ground,
I’ve never seen this ‘air’;
A pretty myth to go around,
But frankly, I don’t care.”
The sparrow flew above a wood,
And while he tarried there,
He asked the berries, nuts and fruit
About the way to air.
The fruit considered it their wyrd
To be cut, or put on racks;
The nuts assured the little bird
That one had to be cracked.
Confused, the sparrow flew until
A pride of wolves he spied;
He humbly asked them about air,
To which the pack replied:
“Our fathers talked a lot of air,
Our forefathers did too;
It’s clear that air is just for wolves
And not for such as you.”
Dejectedly, he settled down
Upon a greening tree,
When next to him a bird came flown
And twittered, “Don’t you see?
“The air is always, all around,
Our life-breath when we sing;
When you can feel it, it is found,
And when we fly, our wings.
“Upon this tree called Yggdrasil
Are many different nests;
Each bird flies freely as he wills,
And as he wishes, rests.”
The little sparrow felt the wind
And knew he’d found his home,
And air was with him every day
Wherever he would roam.
© Michaela Macha
License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
unchanged, including the copyright notice and this License:
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