One evening, very late, the gardener, by the gate,
Dug a deep, round pit.
Next morning, shrill and loud, a plump brown crowd
Of sparrows, surrounded it.
They marveled, all amazed, and commented and gazed,
As they hopped all around.
And each one opined that he had divined
The purpose of that hole in the ground.
One solemnly intoned his theory profound-
That the pit had been dug by God.
Another agreed that ’twas for the sparrows’ need
That He had turned the sod.
Another one , disdainfully shrugs- “I think the exposed worms and bugs,”
“Are human peace offerings.”
“Men have finally atoned for the birds they’ve stoned-
“With catapults and slings!”
“This pit shall provide food , forever, for our brood”,
Said one, but I heard his spouse mutter , with a derisive flutter,
“Its the base for a new bird-house!”
So they chattered and chirped, pecked up insects and burped,
And all held to their views , that for their personal use
Had the world coalesced or been made.
By the gatepost’s shade, they cavorted and played–
Till the gardener brought sapling and spade!