Resplendent
mine, if shifts
From the
North to colder
Southern
climes.
In passing
resplendent but
Not where
the sun does
Shine, I
pass through
Numerous
grasses kind.
Who is to
determine where
I should
next move? To
Wear thin
the burrow of
This next
groove.
In sight of
sparrows flight
I know I
shall weep
For how I
resent flight
Whilst I do
creep.
Have I not
learnt from
Past
unmoved that in
This
present I should remove
From
company with which I share
The
sparrow’s scorn,
The
sparrow’s glare.