This morning Molly found a sparrow

On the terrace (or Nancaro,

I don’t know who)

Its legs “Like this!” says Moll, and shows

Her fingers spread like sparrow toes;

We don’t know why.

Perhaps before the sparrow died,

After it tried to come inside

And visit us

And hit the window, as it lay

Upon the ground and slipped away

To where birds go,

It looked above it at the sky,

And when it found it couldn’t fly

It tried to walk

Upon the far-off blue it saw

And stretched its legs, then – nothing more:

The sparrow died.

And in the morning Moll and Caro

Dug a little small and narrow

Grave for it

And while they’ve gone to buy our tea

I’m writing – as they asked of me –

This epitaph

To say: “Goodbye. We hope you’re snug

Inside the little home we dug -

Moll and her Nan –

Beside the lawn –

Goodbye.”