As morn devours a sleeping need.
Fledglings cackle, closely packed before their king,
Set to embark upon his deed.
Creatures of the forest floor beware beneath their foliage,
Sparrow battles hard against the breeze,
Picks his prey then flies above the ridge
That maps his nest within a sea of trees.
Yearning cuffs his nut-brown chest to see a nest
That gleams above the jagged canopy.
Sparrow aviates the wind and comes to rest
Upon this bracken snuggery.
'Sparrow, why have you come upon my bracken den?'
Sparrow looks upon the offspring of this tousled wren.
'I am here in admiration
Of a nest of such a size.
I bow in adulation
To the keeper of this prize.'
'It is your to claim in autumn, Sparrow, we shall be gone by then.'
Fractioned moons turn whole as Sparrow waits to take his purse.
Desire weighs down heavy on his soul.
Flowers reach and bloom and forest brooks progress their course,
But Sparrow stays determined in his goal.
A frosty morn sees Wren and Wrens forsake their roof abode,
Sparrow's covet beats his wings to claim.
He brings his clan and they all chirp triumphant ode
And dance beneath the autumn sunshine's flame.
But soon the brazen leaves turn gold and wither to the floor.
The wind so high pierces brittle walls.
The sparrows huddle close but the cold bites to the core,
As the first of winter snow begins to fall.
All the nests within the naked boughs surrender to the freeze,
Entombed beneath a stainless wintry foam,
Except a nest so far below, sheltered deep within the trees,
A cosy place the sparrows once called home.