I saw this once,
A dead sparrow; alone of the streets.
Very soon, a few other sparrows (living ones) were circling the dead mate.
From afar, I thought the sparrows were eating their dead friend,
biting and chewing on his innards and picking at his brain.
But no.
I moved forward, the sparrows were actually jumping about, chirping about.
Directed towards the dead one.
They were trying to wake the poor bird up,
moving around him, talking to him.
But like all good stories, a twist.
A car came, headlights shining bright.
The speeding machine approached the convent of birds,
and
      stopped.
The driver, in shiny suit, wearing an expansive watch walked out,
went towards the sparrow,
and moved him away from the road.
The driver, Mr-goodness, moved the bird.
I stood there, not making a sound, almost not breathing.
But the suited man will never know,
that he moved more than the bird.
He moved me
      to tears.