Point of View

Did We Mean to Wound the Sparrow?

bird-in-hand

Where do we go from here,

Now that we’ve bruised the hearts

Of tender spirits?

Spilling blood is not

the end for which we had hoped.

It changes nothing.

The sparrow lies on the grass,

His wings torn,

His eyes dreaming of

Days when he could flutter

through the treetops.

And yet he still sings

and he still forgives

us.

Where do we go from here,

Now that we’ve decided who

Is right and who is wrong?

Though the sparrow is still singing

his song,

We continue to wonder who we are,

And why the shadows grow long.

Rebecca Jean Downey

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