The Basic Tune of the Sparrow

Outside the glass that keeps us warm, 
the sparrows, 
most common of creatures, 
of whom the promise is made 
that none will be lost, 
are content, 
releasing out from themselves 
the basic, expected 
tune of sparrow. 
They intone through the snows 
that flesh the limbs 
and starch white the ground 
where in rust and green seasons 
they forage for food, 
take in stride the wider design 
be it snow, or rain, shards of sun, 
the discontent of wind. 
They expect nothing more, 
accept even less. 
Brown feather, small bone, unsung 
as late love, bare light bulbs, 
a white cotton slip, 
they yield. 
No murmur no envy no pain 
leaks from their beaks.