City sparrows don't care.
There I sit
in the early autumn park,
on a bench,
shaking a handful of keys
at the birds walking round my ankles.
As if they'll really hop on my hand.
Trust me, I have good intentions!
Two, almost touching my shoe,
look through me,
not knowing that I'm channeling
St. Francis of Assisi,
"My brothers, Birds, you should praise your Creator".
Feathers not even twitching,
carried on the wind.
They know a saint when they see one.
copyright/ all rights reserved