Sparrows

Sparrows

Chris Carter

From what grand heights the sparrows fall to ground,
A dais much reduced from branches light,
The place resounding songs as morning sound,
The notes an anthem sung to joy in flight!

Where once the wing-ed chorus greeted day
The fallen flock bemoans their broken wings,
Their tweets a dirge—mourning song—from clay.
The earth-bound choir in air no longer sings.

The branches, though, recall the birds as grace,
A song without a cost, without a fee,
Adorning death we try to swift outpace,
A call to simply sit and hear and be.

For autumn leaves—fall’s death—enrich the soil
For life to spring anew, set free from toil.

---

Chris Carter
Writer and Photographer

Chris lives in Los Angeles. He is an avid reader, writer, and photographer. If you would like to sample more of his work, check out his photography on Instagram (@chriscarter_photography) as well as his writing (@chriscarterwriting).

Photography by Cameron Miller