Low in the afternoon,
The sparrow deceived by the sun:
Dusk being yet hours away,
To its close the year slowly drawing.
Our feathered friend must dream:
The hope of a long-promised dawn,
Shiv'ring in twilight's repose
And lo, with the first signs of morning
Kith and kin reawaken from slumber
To greet the daystar of their lives
And beyond all counting, the number
Who ascend, fresh-winged, through the sky.
