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