They kept it safe, kept it warm, did everything in their power

To help the poor, shivering creature (once magnificent beast)

Bloom once more instead of remain the wilted flower

It was then, seemingly half-deceased

They brought it to doctors, to nurses, even to the crackpot down the street,

but nothing seemed to help, despite the great efforts made

Would the sparrow never again sing out its sweet

morning greeting?  it was far more plausible than wanted as they watched its life fade

They worked so long to provide for it right,

Hours and days of worried time flashing by,

As the sparrow receded away into itself, so did their inspiration to write

They felt as helpless as it must've as they watched it slowly die

No

They can do this

They can help it through its terrible trials and woe

But what to do, what to do, when it was so far gone, deep in an ethereal world of pain and bliss?