An Ode to Sparrows

Where are all the sparrows

Where have they all gone

Nobody really knows

One day the sun the trees

The buildings the breeze the streets

All fell silent, silent

Of the sparrow’s dust brown

Chirrup-chirrup-chirrup

Their beady eyes and beaks

Working frantically

Stuffing disheveled pieces

Of twigs and bits and pieces

In nooks and crannies

Of people’s spic and span homes

To nest their young

Well, the nests stopped

Being built

And their young

Stopped being born

Suddenly they were all gone

The sparrows their nests their young

And their chirrup-chirrup-chirrup