By Andrew Ough-Jones
Upon the winds my Tree Sparrow flies. Out yonder to the fleeting sunset. Never flailing, nor tiring, he chirps encouragement to the clouds, wings forever beating.
His white cheeks puff proudly, chirruping at dawn atop the hedgerow where he builds his nest. And to my Polly he does call.
She asks him, “Where have you been, Tree Sparrow?”
“Germany, France, and Belgium!” he replies. “Over fields and oceans. I would love to take you!”
“I would love to come!” Polly flirts, pruning her whiskers. “But I cannot, for I have no wings.”
“Pity,” says my Tree Sparrow. “You are worth it.”
Almost a poem! Beautiful poetic language which has an old-fashioned tone to it, reminiscent of traditional nursery rhymes and folk tales. Lovely.
I’d definitely call this a prose poem–and a darn good one at that! Good job!