The Sparrow
A little bird, with plumage brown,
Beside my window flutters down,
A moment chirps its little strain,
Then taps upon my window-pane,
And chirps again, and hops along,
To call my notice to its song;
But I work on, nor heed its lay,
Till, in neglect, it flies away.
So birds of peace and hope and love
Come fluttering earthward from above,
To settle on life’s window-sills,
And ease our load of earthly ills;
But we, in traffic’s rush and din
Too deep engaged to let them in,
With deadened heart and sense plod on,
Nor know our loss till they are gone.
Beside my window flutters down,
A moment chirps its little strain,
Then taps upon my window-pane,
And chirps again, and hops along,
To call my notice to its song;
But I work on, nor heed its lay,
Till, in neglect, it flies away.
So birds of peace and hope and love
Come fluttering earthward from above,
To settle on life’s window-sills,
And ease our load of earthly ills;
But we, in traffic’s rush and din
Too deep engaged to let them in,
With deadened heart and sense plod on,
Nor know our loss till they are gone.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar
You may know by now, I’m fascinated by dead birds. Don’t get me wrong, I think they’re beautiful, in the most poetic way. That’s why I always try to pair beautiful words with my bird photos. In a way, I do my best to create a compelling visual story, not just photographing a dead bird for a dead bird. So, here are my latest images of a sweet singing sparrow who fell prey to a roaming cat and was brought as a gift to it’s owner, who then gave it me so I could honour it the way I knew best.
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