An old world sparrow with her extra tongue bone drinks it in.
Brown gray she rarely wonders, why not a peacock’s plumes?
Short and stubby legs, why not a flamingo’s height?
Why would he focus his eyes on such an insignificant seed eater?
Is it her effortless humility and contentment?
Is it her incredible smallness against such a broad patch of sky?
Or, perhaps it’s her song.
Maybe, she sings, because she is happy and free as well.
And, his eyes and her good fortune follow his ears’ delight.