The Sparrow. part .

The sparrow perched in the hawthorn tree. "A lowly sparrow am I," thought he. He had some friends but no family and life was rather lonely. On better days he"d sing to his pals and whistle jokes and be merry; His wit and humour denied the true lonely sparrow who felt so blue. And yet, he felt such love for his fellow feathered friends. Empathy and charity, his concern knew no ends. The acts of loving and giving he"d turned into an art, expecting no reward for taking someone's part. Twitter and bisted, he could've become, hurt over and over and over. Always another kick in the beak from one more selfish lover. Indeed it seemed to him his love would always be spurned and aching and upset, his desire for revenge burned. But he found revenge was empty and this added to his plight for how was he to find a way to fill his long dark night? The owl came to visit him when he was at his lowest ebb and though few words were spoken, so very much was said. continued...