Righteous one, she’ll drop every tenth seed or so,
as the dawn illuminates her black velvet cap,
snow blows against a feather-white scarf.

At once, Sunday’s song begins
and the choir takes to its seat
perched on high above the sacred feast.

Blessed for these small portals of kindness,
she is generous in her meter,
the sparrows grateful for the tithe.

Words ©2016, Jen Payne. Image: Tit on Snowy Branch, Ohara Koson

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