Needles abandoned
the pine tree long ago
leaving barren branches
outstretched for sparrows.
Sparrows fly in;
late parishioners
scooting into pews
hoping God and everyone
pretends not to notice.
They sing,
a chorus of praise
to the sunrise, blue sky,
and mountain air.
Individual pine cones
imitate mountain sparrows
as they cling and pray
to the pine tree.
Release them
with the hopes
a stray seed
captures the earth
in root strength
to grow needles
rising to the sky.