Sparrows

RESPECT
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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.
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As if they'll really hop on my hand.
Trust me, I have good intentions!
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Two, almost touching my shoe,
look through me,
not knowing that I'm channeling
St. Francis of Assisi,
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"My brothers, Birds, you should praise your Creator".
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I'm ignored.
Feathers not even twitching,
they fly,
carried on the wind.
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They know a saint when they see one.
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