The sparrows outside have silenced their fawn
     the seeds left scattered untouched from this dawn
for alas, a season ago were they last fed
The blades in the ground have wasted
     the water offered leaving no dry thirst sated
no other blame; with soil dried three months past
Ah—‘tis a shame that all is asleep, Morpheus
but there exists nothing to be done now—concede one must
     when the sparrows have stopped their song.