It was a very little death, I know. <br />They happen every day, go unrecorded, <br />Unlamented; this one was lucky in that way, <br />I spied it on the path beside the road <br />And picked it up—it was a little cracker, <br />A tree sparrow as smart as a new pin, <br />Its every feather still in place, so trim <br />It seemed brand new, you couldn’t think it dead. <br />There was a ring around its leg which read: <br />TB87618. I knew the form <br />And sent an e-mail to the local ringer, <br />Paul, who would record it in the log <br />And so bestow upon the bird a sort <br />Of immortality. Let’s hope <br />It is a consolation to the rest <br />For it was just last spring when they were ringed <br />Before they’d left their mother’s cosy nest.<br /><br />Pete Crowther<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tb87618/
