A sparrow perched on a twisted branch
Eyes reaching into the desolate beyond
Wings aflutter
Persisting through the mist of fallen wings
The sparrow has seen death many times
They have learned to turn away
Passing by
Passings by
But what the sparrow has not witnessed
Is the passing of its kind
A branch of the self they had not perched on
When the sparrow sees the mourning of morning
They rest their wings
For the resting of another
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 9:46 AM UTC
A sparrow perched on a twisted branch
Eyes reaching into the desolate beyond
Wings aflutter
Persisting through the mist of fallen wings
The sparrow has seen death many times
They have learned to turn away
Passing by
Passings by
But what the sparrow has not witnessed
Is the passing of its kind
A branch of the self they had not perched on
When the sparrow sees the mourning of morning
They rest their wings
For the resting of another
Rest in peace Gio
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