Where The Sparrows Sing

Sparrows sing for reasons of their own

and when I begin to understand,

they will hopefully change their motives

and sing for a new reason,

leaving me eternally mystified.

My need to know is of no

consequence to birds who go about

their lives feasting at my table

only because it is offered, because

it is there.

Their ribald ecstasy in spring means

nothing to them in relation to me,

their frenzied rituals are not contingent

on my knowing what it is they do or why.

Living their lives in complete

anonymity they care not one wit

what I might think or say. Flying

away at my approach, they

want no contact, only the food

that I provide.

They sing, for reasons of their own,

and it pleases me to not know why.

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