The Alley Sparrow's Tale

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A stir in the alley, a shadow so slight,
Not a whisper of wind, but a flicker of night.
Too small for the pickets, too quick for the eye,
I, a swift sparrow, soaring on high.
No jewels I sought, no silver, no gold—
Just a crust from the baker, a hunger grown bold.


I saw a small boy, eyes gaunt and deep,
Snatch a crumb while the bakers would sleep.
He knew hunger’s gnaw, like a fellow in flight—
A mirrored existence in morning’s dim light.
Two shadows, two lives, both darting unseen,
Bound by the silence where hunger had been.


I danced through the market, a blur in the throng,
My tiny feet pattering where I didn’t belong.
A dropped seed, a stray crumb—each morsel hard-won,
My swift little victories beneath the harsh sun.
And from a high wire, I glimpsed what was rare:
A panda at peace in a bamboo-rich lair.


Some called me a menace, with voices so stern,
Said I'd never be honest, would never quite learn.
But they didn’t see winter, the frost on my breath,
Or the daily dance on the thin edge of death.
No soft shoots for me, no warm, gentle ground—
Only alleys and stones, where nothing was found.


I wasn’t malicious, no malice I bore,
Just seeking a crumb from the plentiful store.
The boy, too, I saw—just a flicker of brown,
A fellow small scavenger in a vast, bustling town.
The shadows were comrades, the darkness my friend,
Where fear couldn’t follow, and judgment would end.


I lived by a lesson, both ruthless and right:
To take what I need when the world holds its might.
No glory, no grace, just a flicker of light—
Then gone in a whisper, back into the night.


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