Eurasian Tree Sparrow

If I am a Eurasian tree sparrow
Fluttering its soft wings on this neighborhood
I’d be ecstatic to scrutinize and look for
The painting it has drawn in a full palette of colors

If I am a Eurasian tree sparrow
I’d see colors of green and deep blue
Not from trees in the forest nor water from the ocean
But from paints covering rust-smeared roofs

If I am a Eurasian tree sparrow
I’d see clear thoroughfares in a dewy morning
Not unstained from dirt and filth
But from rowdy neighbors who uplift a dreary town

If I am a Eurasian tree sparrow
I’d see shiny and fancy looking cars
Not on the highways and busy street
But in the middle of a droughting rice field

If I am a Eurasian tree sparrow
The view from this once majestic landscape
Would weigh down my flapping wings
I’ve mistaken this ghastly borough as a home
As I rest on a thin strand of power line
Instead of a flourishing tree twine