The little Sparrow frowned and nodded, It’s true she thought – what can I say… My dress looks rather drab and dreary, Just brown – no brilliance to display…
But – do we judge each other by our feathers, Is that the only beauty we can see? She flipped her tiny wings in indignation, And squeaked – “No, no that must never be…”
For look at the Raven – a bird of ill omen, Plain, common and black – no colour at all… Yet the world takes notice and is sore afraid, When it hears the sound of the Raven’s call…
Or, have you ever watched the Eagle, Soaring upwards in tireless flight… Fearing nothing, he rides the winds of Heaven, Far above all turbulence, to a greater height…
And then, there’s the Dove, pure, spotless and white, A symbol of innocence, of tenderness and grace… Chosen in ancient times, as a “Peace-offering” Sacrificed in honour, to God’s Glory and Praise…
Suddenly, the Sparrow flipped her wings again, And chirped – “I might be plain and very small… Yet I’m blessed, for His eye is on the Sparrow, And He watches over me – and knows when I fall…”
