From grey to gold

If you just had not seen it happen, you would not suspect 
that the dense, green hedge that followed the sidewalk,
 was pretty well occupied by happy and chattering grey sparrows. 
They broke suddenly into the hedge, as when the farmer’s wife 
sprinkle a handful of grain from her apron pocket out to her hens.

But Sherlock had seen it. Sherlock saw it almost every time. 
He was an experience affected cat a little over fourteen years old 
and his resume was in order. He had tried a little of everything, 
and move silently as a ninja was the least of his art.

Now the flock of sparrows suddenly left the hedge. As a small tornado. 
Only one of the sparrows did not make it, and it was Sherlock’s profit. 
He had plucked a little toy… in the first place … and a treat in the other.

The sparrows were again gathered in the hedge. 
Now began one of them, to tell about a friend who had hopped 
from branch to branch in the tree by the hedge. 
Higher and higher she made it, and in the end she had become engulfed 
a moment of a beautiful sunbeam. Ever since she had only sung 
the gilded sparrow song: “quit quit quit quit quit quit… queeeeeeet.”

“Could she not help us to keep an eye on the cat or maybe 
scare him away. I mean, with this adventourus view,” one of them said.

“She says this, that the only way we can avoid all of our problems is 
that we follow her example and jump up in the golden world field. 
For in the hedge area there will always be a new cat when Sherlock
 take retirement or die. This is the way it works. She knows, however, 
that we find it hard to leave our beloved hedge.”

“But at least I try to practice a little of her song. For it was perhaps 
not so foolish to be gilded instead of being devoured. 
The song is relatively easy to remember, for both text and chorus 
is almost the same: quit quit quit quit quit quit… queeeeeeet.”

/J.W.