Don't Feed the Sparrows
He hops towards you, a tiny ball of feathers,
so small, delicate.
He looks at you with round black eyes
waiting, judging.
When you reach out with your hand,
the sparrow retreats ever so slightly.
You cannot tame him with good manners;
he will only fly away.
Ever since last summer I envy them. They are
almost cheerful, so free.
Please don't feed the sparrows.
Don't make me fall in love with you.