Only a Sparrow [sonnet]

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Does familiarity breed contempt?
Comparatively so, I have to fear.
Comme d’habitude will crumble dream cement
and with a film of blindness it will smear

fool’s eyes. How easily we lose our joy
at seeing something close before our face;
our sense of wonder it will soon destroy
and sink surprise’s seedlings without trace.

Look in the tree! “It’s only a sparrow”,
intoned a weary voice who’d seen it all
a thousand times — his reverence so narrow
(although before that splendour I must fall).

Too readily we close up beauty’s door
when frequency negates our sense of awe.


© 2011, Alan Morrison

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