Pardonnez moi s’il vous plaît

I am not fond of birds,
Although some indeed have charm.
A friend told a story about hers
“Il est Charlie”, charm that disarms
Even the casual gaze, his displays
Of song deeply amused
And one day a sparrow
Came close to its end, confused
By the language, bird to bird.

Not surprising really, for
It is the limitation of words.
Whether uttered by featherless men
Of hairless feathered friend
There is the difficulty
Where does the intention begin and end

Now as a child my Grandma had some birds
Heckle and Jeckle were their names
Not original but she loved them just the same
I don’t know all that happened but they
Perished in their cage, and since then
I have never wanted a caged bird.

But magnificent in flight
Osprey and Eagle, Hawk and Falcon
And even those I saw at night
Golden angels in the moonlight over the Caribbean Sea
I enjoy their bold freedom; they have no cages
And do not consort with sparrows except to feast.

But the Sparrow has a place in my heart
Was what my Mother used to sing about:
His eyes on the Sparrow, such a pure
Unflinching faith had she, and I can
Recall the feeling more than any part of memory
That her words were plain, were given sincerely
A paean to a God of Sparrows and crows,
Angels, doves and gulls, all reckoning
Of flying things, and to this day
When I see an anomalous feather
Floating nearby, I pause to wonder
Of that moment- Mother and her Sparrows,
And signs that follow Faith.

Ahh, I have digressed, but my friend would not mind
Nor Charlie, neither of my feelings about cages.
I was once in love, and came to know
The welcome side of cages; that sometimes,
it is the captive bird that gilds the cage.