Sparrows

What if I said,
that perched on
every cloud
was a crowd
of sparrows?

Some days they
look down at
the rest of us
to truly discuss
our sorrows.

“Those pariahs,”
one says, “I can’t
fathom the pain
which is the bane
of their existence.”

“Look down, see
that one there?
A broken wing
and unable to sing!”
The first tear fell.

Another chirps up,
“I see one too
who seems a
little bruised
from endless abuse.”
And so a second tear fell.

As the third tear
fell, the whole
crowd took heed
of the need
to cry with us.

For each scrape,
every broken heart,
and the limitless scars,
sparrows as high as the stars
began shedding tears.

What if I said,
each drop of rain
was just a tear
from my dear
friends, the sparrows?

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