Wrapped up in a feathered coat the little sparrow died

His head struck glass, or so I guess, and couldn't get inside

Now here he lies on concrete on the sidewalk by the mall

Brown on brown beneath the gray of muggy early fall

My friend and I, we saw the white of feathers on his chest

She wrapped him up in a fallen leaf and laid him down to rest

Beneath the patch of mulch and dirt across the parking lot

I whispered down a makeshift prayer in lieu of cannon shot

Oh, soldier of the sky, who is to say what fate you'll get?

If heaven's barred from sparrows, then I haven't heard it yet

You lived a life of peace, I'm sure, and did no other wrong

Perhaps one day your little beak will sing the higher song