Dear Readers, sparrows are much on my mind at the moment: one male visits the garden every day. But where are the rest of the flock? I note that when the picture above was taken in 2023, I was being visited by at least a dozen birds right through the winter. We’ll have to see what happens as spring heaves itself gently into view, but for now, here’s a sparrow poem, to go with the rather lovely one by Paul Laurence Dunbar that I published last year.

Ledwidge was an Irish poet, referenced by Seamus Heaney in his 1979 elegy. He volunteered for the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers during the First World War, and was killed at Ypres in 1917. In this article in the Guardian, Carol Rumens explains that, as a moderate Nationalist, Ledwidge probably saw no contradiction in fighting against the Germans, but all this changed after the execution of the leaders of the Easter Rising in 1916. His poem ‘Lament for the Poets:1916’ is a beautiful work, which references both Irish mythology and the natural world (see Guardian link above).

But for now, our subject is sparrows. But not just sparrows. See what you think.

To a Sparrow by Francis Ledwidge

Because you have no fear to mingle
Wings with those of greater part,

So like me, with song I single

Your sweet impudence of heart.


And when prouder feathers go where
Summer holds her leafy show,

You still come to us from nowhere

Like grey leaves across the snow.


In back ways where odd and end go

To your meals you drop down sure,

Knowing every broken window

Of the hospitable poor.


There is no bird half so harmless,

None so sweetly rude as you,

None so common and so charmless,

None of virtues nude as you.

But for all your faults I love you,

For you linger with us still,

Though the wintry winds reprove you
And the snow is on the hill.