The Sparrow

A sparrow flying in the mist
Across the squalid Sky;
Seeks a nest to rest his feet
A cradle to close his weary eyes –
And Spy’s a fort on Sandy dunes,
A Stout-Castle forged of mud
A bridled passage sheltered ‘ere,
A solitude to share.

He circles lonesome plotting some’
Above the ruthless dunes –
Where best the domicile is shaped
Amongst the baking ruins;
When weary folk last laid their heads
The desert sapped their life
But the Sparrow prowls this hole, a foreign land
And finds amidst the slumberous mass,
His sought out home at last.

And so seeks he a woman bird,
A lass to crown his nest:
To engirdle home with happiness
And Nurture life with zest.

© Ephraim M Luwemba