City Bird Bath

If I were a sparrow
And lived in the city,
Where soot and pollutants
Could make feathers gritty…

I’d fly to the Garden
Near 103^rd,
The perfect location
To bathe for a bird.

For there, in a fountain,
A girl holds a bowl
And the trickling water
Needs naught to cajole.

So the sparrows all flutter
To romp and to splash
For a minute or two
Then they’re gone in a flash…

While the humans sit watching
With grins on each face
As the birds take a bath
In this lovely sweet place.