Sparrows never rest
On the bush, I don't want to know the name of was full of sparrows
picking leaves for their nests; the bush looks like a balding man.
It is seven in the morning; the birds work hard
soon it will be hot, and their toiling stops,
but they will be back in the late afternoon working
hard to finish the building of nests.
The small thieves resent me standing on the terrace
twits in unison to shush me away.
It is too quiet I have dressed going to the local hospital
tor a test at the hospital, then I realise it is Sunday,
I'm hungry as I'm not supposed to eat anything
before the test. I go into the kitchen and the sparrows
continue working.