little sparrow,
feathery frumper,
flitting feet
over rock, over rifts
in sidewalk;
hopping, popping,
cute as a newborn,
clever as a nanny-goat,
yet with its own brand of intelligence
and innocence
tiny beak,
pecking at bread crumbs,
looking up at me,
head cocked inquisitively,
questioning,
“what manner of monster
is this being,
this monstrosity
in size, in sound?
A fat, softish oak?
An uprooted tree,
fumbling about?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like this, my brother's name is sparrow