being an island

what hope has any sparrow
when the morning's old and faded
every fisherman on the shore
empty-handed, broken -- jaded

feathered wings afluttering
and songless songs all sung
what hope has any sparrow though
when nothings what the day has brung?

what dream has any cricket
when the evening's only rain
every firefly's hidden and
the summer's only pain

happy music's lost again
sleep is dark and endless
what dream has any sparrow though
when the moon can seem so friendless?

what aspirations have the clouds
when all the world is sand
every bone is bleached white
and death seems the only plan

the wind's just a staccato dirge
not a creature seems to move
what aspirations has any cloud
when there's nothing here to prove?