The Rook And The Sparrows
A little boy with crumbs of bread
Many a hungry sparrow fed.
It was a child of little sense,
Who this kind bounty did dispense;
For suddenly it was withdrawn,
And all the birds were left forlorn,
In a hard time of frost and snow,
Not knowing where for food to go.
He would no longer give them bread,
Because he had observed (he said)
That sometimes to the window came
A great black bird, a rook by name,
And took away a small bird's share.
So foolish Henry did not care
What became of the great rook,
That from the little sparrows took,
Now and then, as 'twere by stealth,
A part of their abundant wealth;
Nor ever more would feed his sparrows.
Thus ignorance a kind heart narrows.
I wish I had been there, I would
Have told the child, rooks live by food
In the same way that sparrows do.
I also would have told him too,
Birds act by instinct, and ne'er can
Attain the rectitude of man.
Nay that even, when distress
Does on poor human nature press,
We need not be too strict in seeing
The failings of a fellow being.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Related quotes
Wild Cat, Domesticated Cat and Sparrows
Hey, elegant cat,
you think you can
rest there sitting so prim and well-brought up
and think I’ll bring you some sparrows I catch
on from the tree-top?
You got to move your butt, brother;
Sparrows don’t fall off trees like ripe fruit
for you to pick from the ground, you know.
Or maybe you don’t know.
And I’m not going to be doing the work
for you, wild cat and friendless as I am.
I live on my own, catch my own sparrows
and eat my own dinner
and lick my lips and I sleep under the shade of the tree
when my tummy’s full
and sure, that’s all I care about
getting my daily meals.
And not even in your wildest dreams, hey well-washed cat,
not even in your wildest dreams
do I have desire to share bird meat and bones with anyone
and especially not with an elegant rich-home cat like you…
Well, you can have the feathers, if you like.
Now really, how did a nice cat like you get lost?
Is this your day out or what?
Some kind of an expedition day?
You want a sparrow to eat?
Get your fat arse here up the tree
with as much stealth as you can
and catch yourself one!
And you stupid cat from comfy rooms
having sat your butt on soft cushions all your life –
stop meow-meowing with hunger! – you’ll scare the birds away,
you unnatural, unnatural domesticated cat!
You know, you’d be better off using your powers of sight
and finding your way back
from wherever you came from and get back
to mummy’s home asap.
Go stand under some lamp post where they might have a
Cuddly Cat Lost sign
and someone might bring you to your owner for a reward.
No way you going to survive in the open, brother!
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Tree Sparrows
Than their cousins house sparrows they are far more shy
The moment they see you into bushes or trees they do fly
They do look attractive when seen in the sunlight
Though in colouration from the house sparrows the difference does seem slight.
Tree sparrows are birds one doesn't see every day
From human dwellings from their cousins they live further away
For insects and seeds they search on the ground
And in Winter in flocks their numbers abound.
Like house sparrows chirpers they too cannot sing
But than house sparrows more wary of humans which is a good thing
They seem rather restless when humans are near
One might say of them their's is a healthy fear.
In grassy places near bushes and trees them I often do see
But they fly into cover when they notice me
Their cousins compared to them seem rather tame
Tree sparrows for them is an often used name.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Pair Of Sparrows!
A pair of twittering sparrows I see;
What a great wonder sparrows are!
Due to constructions of concrete jungles
Sparrows are driven out farther and farther!
So, they take shelter in high way trees;
Even those trees are cut for laying highways
And the sparrows are driven out still far away!
What kind of guys are they who take shelter
Under the trees in summer time but not
Think of pouring even a dropp of water to it?
Extension of concrete jungles destroys trees
And drives away a few sparrows too forever!
Is this called progress in the modern world?
Or is this a harbinger of apocalypse of the whole?
poem by Ramesh T A
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Our Search Is For True Happiness
Our search is for true happiness but such we cannot find
And such a gift if it exist not meant for human kind
For some this life is hard so hard a battle all the way
Their plate with food is seldom full they live from day to day.
And others with more than enough are not prepared to share
And for the hungry and the poor they spare no thought of care
They are possessed by demon greed their demon grow and grow
The more they have the more they want and unhappiness they know.
The more they have the more they want they live with grasping hand
And why wars and famines in the world not hard to understand
Too many die for want of food and too few seem to care
And a half a million become poor to make one millionaire.
And greed and the great need for power the scourge on human kind
And our search is for true happiness if such there is to find
And the distribution of wealth as ever seems unfair
And the hoarders far too many and the kind of heart too rare.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Beak Kind To Birds!
Beak kind to birds both near and far,
Both high and low as well...
To me, each bird's a superstar!
In fact, to me, they're swell!
Beak kind to birds and show you care
With titbits now and then...
And watch with wonder as they share
Their breakfast once again!
Beak kind and keep your cats at bay...
Else feeding birds take flight!
It's nicer seeing birds at play
Than watching them take fright!
Beak kind to birds, give them their space
So they may co-exist...
For none on Earth can take their place,
So they'd be sorely missed!
Beak kind to birds, they'll flock to you -
They're all our feathered friends!
It doesn't matter, black or blue...
Beak kind - 'cos it makes sense!
poem by Denis Martindale (2003)
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A Sparrow In My Mind Is Enough For Me
i do not need two or more sparrows to know what a song
of that sparrow is all about
more sparrows become a crowd and i cannot figure out the intent
of the song
the notes blur like a mist that i erase from the side of the glass window
i do not need a living sparrow
for i do not wish to capture one and choke it inside the cage of my hands
i only need the most freeing sparrow inside my mind
the one that i can erase if i do not need it anymore
without inflicting any pain without holding any feather any longer.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Spread Like Lilies
come little sparrows
hop about all freely
under my laid tables
daily feast upon crumbs
of this our heavenly
daily bread spread like lilies
of God’s harvest fields
sparrows do not spin or weave
freely feast enjoy stay believe.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Sparrow And The Hen
A sparrow, when sparrows like parrots could speak,
Addressed an old hen who could talk like a jay:
Said he, 'It's unjust that we sparrows must seek
Our food, when your family's fed every day.
'Were you like the peacock, that elegant bird,
The sight of whose plumage her master may please,
I then should not wonder that you are preferred
To the yard, where in affluence you live at your ease.
'I affect no great style, am not costly in feathers,
A good honest brown I find most to my liking,
It always looks neat, and is fit for all weathers,
But I think your grey mixture is not very striking.
'We know that the bird from the isles of Canary
Is fed, foreign airs to sing in a fine cage;
But your note from a cackle so seldom does vary,
The fancy of man it cannot much engage.
'My chirp to a song sure approaches much nearer,
Nay the nightingale tells me I sing not amiss;
If voice were in question I ought to be dearer;
But the owl he assures me there's nothing in this.
'Nor is it your proneness to domestication,
For he dwells in man's barn, and I build in man's thatch,
As we say to each other-but, to our vexation,
O'er your safety alone man keeps diligent watch.'
'Have you e'er learned to read?' said the hen to the sparrow,
'No, madam,' he answered, 'I can't say I have.'
'Then that is the reason your sight is so narrow,'
The old hen replied, with a look very grave.
'Mrs. Glasse in a Treatise-I wish you could read-
Our importance has shown, and has proved to us why
Man shields us and feeds us: of us he has need
Even before we are born, even after we die.'
poem by Charles Lamb
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Bird Watching
Bird Watching
Two sparrows, on roof of my car, noisily chirped, five
more sparrows came, tweeted too and showed no debate
culture, then they flew off and left the couple to it.
One, the male, I think, flew off and left, I assume, her
alone; not for long, he came back peeped and left again;
did this three times, finally she flew off with him, but
she deeply sighed. A drama had passed, that I had seen
and judged with a human’s limited understanding of
the life of other spices. Bird dropping on the car roof,
I had witnessed a love story, good as any seen on TV,
and as afternoon soaps must, had ended blissfully.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Birds
the birds, sparrows and robins
and some herons
are flying on the blue sky
you watch them
a robin comes near you
and makes a stare
the white heron glides
past your face and flies
away without much ado
a sparrow feeds on your palm
and after all the grains are
consumed it goes its way
north and finally the kingfisher
which is late tries to give
you its catch, a small fish.
you see the difference
and then you go south,
i mean, the difference,
towards another direction,
that one that gives and not
the one that takes,
the one that thinks about
others
and not more about oneself.
you are supposed to be that
a giver not a taker.
one bird has shown you
with a very small fish and
that was enough to feed
you in another long and lonely
journey: south.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Invitation To Tea (A Dark Comedy) Part 2
(It is advisable you read part 1 first)
Charles Latimer broke up the slices of bread he brought and scattered them across the path. “You’ll never guess what Grace Forbes said to me this morning. She said that I would have made some lucky woman a wonderful husband. Of course, she doesn’t really know me. I mean, if she did she wouldn’t have said that, now would she? ”
The pigeons didn’t reply. They just moved about from one piece of bread to another and chasing off any sparrow who tried to snatch up a crumb.
“Of course she is a lovely woman her. I am surprised that she never married. There was talk that she was engaged once. It’s said that the chap ran off with her best friend, but at least she has her sister to keep her company.” His voice lowered to almost a whisper when he noticed someone coming.
Removing another couple of slices of bread from the bag, he broke them up. He scattered the pieces in a semi-circled at his feet. Several more birds landed. Squabbles broke out.
“Its all right fellows I have more bread, “he said and broke up another slice. “ Now where was I? Oh, yes. I was telling you about Grace and her sister. They are so lucky to have each other. Myself I was an only child. It can be lonely at times when your parents are gone. Of course you wouldn’t understand that.”
The pigeons moved about picking at the bread always watchful for a larger another might have. Several sparrows swooped in picked up a pieces and then flew off. Charles watched them scattering more bread until the bag was empty. Slowly the last pieces disappeared and the birds left.
Glancing at his watch Charles noticed it was nearly twelve. He must pick up his shopping and go home. He folded the bag he carried the bread in and slipped it into his pocket. He moved out of the park and towards the corner shop. The tiny doorbell chimed s he entered.
Grace smiled and lifted a brown paper bag onto the counter. “Your groceries Mr Latimer. How were the pigeons today? ”
“Their usual self. They can be bullies at times especially where the sparrows are concerned.” he replied. “How much do owe you? ”
“That will be five pounds and sixteen pence. I am sorry it’s so much, but everything goes up almost daily.”
“I know. It is dreadful.” He said opening his wallet and playing her.
“Mr Latimer, Charlotte and I were wondering.”
“What is that Grace? ”
“If you would do us the honour of coming around for tea one evening. As you live, alone you might like some company. Or dear Mr Potter would love to meet you.”
“Mr Potter? I thought you and Charlotte lived on your own.”
“Mr Potter was a friend of our late Aunt. That is the only reason why we agreed to have him here“
“Oh, I don‘t know.”
Grace put on he most disarming smile. “You know we would dearly love you to come.”
“Well, yes.”
“Good we will see you this evening. Let us say about six o’clock. How is that? ”
Charles forces small smile. “Yes I guess that would be all right..”
“We will see you at six then.”
To Be Concluded
poem by David Harris
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Of Child With Bird At The Bush
My little bird, how canst thou sit
And sing amidst so many thorns?
Let me a hold upon thee get,
My love with honour thee adorns.
Thou art at present little worth,
Five farthings none will give for thee,
But pr'ythee, little bird, come forth,
Thou of more value art to me.
'Tis true it is sunshine to-day,
To-morrow birds will have a storm;
My pretty one come thou away,
My bosom then shall keep thee warm.
Thou subject are to cold o'nights,
When darkness is thy covering;
At days thy danger's great by kites,
How can'st thou then sit there and sing?
Thy food is scarce and scanty too,
'Tis worms and trash which thou dost eat;
Thy present state I pity do,
Come, I'll provide thee better meat.
I'll feed thee with white bread and milk,
And sugar plums, if them thou crave.
I'll cover thee with finest silk,
That from the cold I may thee save.
My father's palace shall be thine,
Yea, in it thou shalt sit and sing;
My little bird, if thou'lt be mine,
The whole year round shall be thy spring.
I'll teach thee all the notes at court,
Unthought-of music thou shalt play;
And all that thither do resort,
Shall praise thee for it every day.
I'll keep thee safe from cat and cur,
No manner o' harm shall come to thee;
Yea, I will be thy succourer,
My bosom shall thy cabin be.
But lo, behold, the bird is gone;
These charmings would not make her yield;
The child's left at the bush alone,
The bird flies yonder o'er the field.
Comparison.
This child of Christ an emblem is,
The bird to sinners I compare,
The thorns are like those sins of his
Which do surround him everywhere.
Her songs, her food, and sunshine day,
Are emblems of those foolish toys,
Which to destruction lead the way,
The fruit of worldly, empty joys.
The arguments this child doth choose
To draw to him a bird thus wild,
Shows Christ familiar speech doth use
To make's to him be reconciled.
The bird in that she takes her wing,
To speed her from him after all,
Shows us vain man loves any thing
Much better than the heavenly call.
poem by John Bunyan
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The House Sparrows
The house sparrows in Spring under house eaves build their nests of hay
And renowned for their chirping they chirp all the day
In cypress and hedges from predators they hide
Familiar in gardens they are known Worldwide.
Brought to this Land by people from Lands far away
Around human dwellings they are happy to stay
Of shyness and lack of self confidence house sparrows are free
And on their worth or lack of worth some choose to disagree.
Originally from Africa of the weaver family
In gardens and Parklands them one often see
Familiar in their feathers of light gray and brown
They search for crumbs under the park benches in the parks of the Town.
The common house sparrows are birds everyone know
Familiar to gardens and to the hedgerow
Classified as songbirds though they don't have a song
They are famed as chirpers they chirp all day long.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Crippled Bird
A broken heart like a broken wing
It must have its time to mend
I am like a crippled bird
In hopes one day to fly again
I loved you so and I was faithful
I cared more than words could say
But love is cruel and life is hateful
Now youve gone and flown away
Chorus:
Oh, to die, twould be a pleasure
Slow to heal, but quick to cry
Fragile as a sparrows feather
Crippled bird too blue to fly
Oh, the loss is cold and shameful
And the grief so deep and sharp
There is nothing quite as painful
As a true blue broken heart
Repeat chorus
Fragile as a sparrows feather
Crippled bird too blue to fly
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Lonely Bird On The Electric Wire
this afternoon i take a walk leading to the farm
it is harvest time
and i see the harvesters cutting the rice stalks filled with golden grains
they would group what they gather at a certain place
mounds and mounds of rice grains this time of a bumper year
on the other side are carabaos grazing
lots of grass to graze adding the recently cut rice stalks
i look at the clouds white and blue and shades of both
my attention is however caught by a single bird perched on the electrical wire connecting two poles about 30 meters apart
it is alone there
and i move closely to see whether it is really a bird
indeed it is one of the sparrows in the ricefield
but so unlike the rest it
it is sitting there alone.
our eyes met.
and i tell my wife about this lonely bird.
she says i am just making a metaphor
i sit alone in my garden now after dining
and i wonder if the bird flew back to its nest or to some territory of its own
where their species also live
and i wonder if the bird must be also telling the other birds that it saw
a man walking alone on that path leading to the farm
and unlike other men he prefers to walk alone
and i also think that perhaps the bird would also take issue about the fact that indeed
our eyes met
and i know the other birds would say
that it is nothing but also a sort of metaphor and to the least that
it is nothing but a kind of fable.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pollution and Climate Change
First, of nature's course, it was the birds;
for theirs the air, above and over all;
knowing by intuition without need of words
as providential, seasoned, sure
as sparrow's fall;
and knowing too
how much to trust to men
who do not even trust each other.
It was, of nature's course, the snowy eagle
entrusted with the task:
the only bird who may look straight into the sun; and thus
to whom that message might be given, to ask,
to pass on to his lord; the only bird
whose plumage may reflect the sun's majestic rays,
and live; perhaps to bring a message back.
As to the message - was it just a sprig
of leaves from tallest tree - polluted, withered, black as crow?
or was it something inner in the words
as spoken on the flight from wintry sun to warmth, or
warmth to Northern spring?
They watched, the conference of the silent birds,
while snowy eagle, like the teepee's early morning smoke,
ascended higher, higher, into the sun's great eye,
which never man - eagle alone - may see;
and... do birds hope?
Or as the twilight falls upon the earth, accept
that what shall be, shall be?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Old Men Walk Barefoot!
they would cut the wings from sparrows,
and deny the face of the wind.
take the laughter from the small child,
and bury the old man's shoes.
fill the cup with oil,
and burn the pages....
erase the names and the memory
of having been...
but the sparrow flies beyond their reach,
and they cant touch the wind.
the child gives his laughter freely,
and the cup has been turned over.
the pages feed the fire with desire,
and names and memory are written on god...
we who have lived have something
they cant take away...
that we give without looking back!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Laws Of Mother Nature
The bird born in an aviary and raised in captivity
Can never live in Nature's World amongst the wild and free
Even the birds of it's own species will peck it till it die
So never allow your feathered pet the freedom of the sky.
I am naive of the laws of Mother Nature and naive of Nature's way
And for interfering with Nature there is some price to pay
The bird born in captivity in a cage must remain
Why even it's own kind in the wilds would kill it is beyond me to explain
Humans try to manipulate Nature and Nature's creatures control
But Mother Nature far greater than Human kind her's is an eternal soul
For we are like Nature's Seasons we come to life and go
Yet of our Earth Mother who feeds us so little we seem to know.
The bird born in captivity in a cage condemned to stay
For if released the other birds will kill it since this is Nature's way
And Mother Nature herself as old as father time
She claims the young and she claims the old and those still in their prime.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A pair of Sparrows on my lovely Lemon Tree
Those were the days
So joyous and carefree
When I could watch the preening of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Summer days were so short, winters were so long
And for endless hours one could go on a kite flying spree
When I could watch, hopping here and there
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
Enjoying tender sunshine in winter is a past
And chapattis from an earthen hearth a history
When I could watch, assembling of a nest by
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
What seemed to be mundane at that time
Life in my backyard so ordinary
Bliss it is in hindsight, chirping of
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree
I still sometimes motivate myself
To get off the treadmill and shake the shackles free
But can’t anymore find in my back yard
That pair of sparrows and that lovely lemon tree
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree..
A pair of sparrows on my lovely lemon tree.......
30 July 09
poem by Ravi Singh
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The Wounded Bird
In the wide bed
Under the freen embroidered quilt
With flowers and leaves always in soft motion
She is like a wounded bird resting on a pool.
The hunter threw his dart
And hit her breast,--
Hit her but did not kill.
"O my wings, lift me--lift me!
I am not dreadfully hurt!"
Down she dropped and was still.
Kind people come to the edge of the pool with baskets.
"Of course what the poor bird wants is plenty of food!"
Their bags and pockets are crammed almost to bursting
With dinner scrapings and scraps from the servants'
lunch.
Oh! how pleased they are to be really giving!
"In the past, you know you know, you were always so
fly-away.
So seldom came to the window-sill, so rarely
Shared the delicious crumbs thrown into the yard.
Here is a delicate fragment and her a tit-bit
As good as new. And here's a morsel of relish
And cake and bread and bread and bread and bread."
At night, in the wide bed
With the leaves and flowers
Gently weaving in the darkness,
She is like a wounded bird at rest on a pool.
Timidly, timidly she lifts her head from her wing.
In the sky there are two stars
Floating, shining...
O waters--do not cover me!
I would look long and long at those beautiful stars!
O my wings--lift me--lift me!
I am not so dreadfully hurt...
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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