A Sparrow And A Robin Poem by Daniel Brick

My neighbor's son has taken to shooting his BB gun at squirrels and birds in the tree whose limbs are shared by both of our yards. I cringe at the sound of each pellet fired. I have taken to tossing handfulls of birdseed, up into the branches, just as he takes aim....momentarily flushing the animals from their perch....And in the same moment, making the boy aware that I an indeed feeding them. I hope he has gotten the message as I cannot bear the senseless sport.

he laughed.... yes it still stings when reaching the ending: (

That poem reveals childrn's folishness. This poem realy reminded me of an event in my childhood when I and my friend Omar chucked a cat with a stone and left her in pain lying on the ground. I insulted him roughly. Thank you for sharing.

This again is another excursion to innocent childhood. As a sensitive child, how your friend's cruelty to the robin pained you. But I must admit that you were equally thoughtful and courageous to have ended the bird's suffering with a stone. I remember having a pet kitten. Once chasing a rat, it upturned a glass bottle of acid which was kept safely away in an upper shelf. The kitten was badly burnt. My mother told me that it wouldn't survive and better someone ended its suffering. But I was so moved by that 'heartless' suggestion and violently resisted. The poor thing after days of pain succumbed to death! The thought still haunts me! Great write, Daniel!

There is something of paradox of human in this. Any insights?

Our allegiances to various creatures are conditioned though. We are unlike monks who gauss over their mouths to avoid breathing in tiny insects. I was very fond of turtles, lizards, cicadas and birds while a child, and though I always wanted a BB gun to shoot birds like my friends, my parents wouldn't let me have one. I think the challenge of hitting a moving target was what appealed to me. Later of course I learned to shoot at stationary targets, or clay pigeons in preparation for going quail or pheasant hunting with the men (when I was old enough) on holidays like Thanksgiving or Christmas. That was for food though and I bought the logic. I too killed many a cicada after it had been stung by a wasp. Of course I killed the wasp as well when I could! Releasing newly hatched cicadas (their zig-zag flight) after they shed their skins was indeed a favorite summer time thrill. Still we spare what we don't eat but then use our skills to kill each other in war. So much fun to be raised a boy. Society's distinctions about what is a legitimate target are so paradoxical. Nice poem and a sensitive write!