Tweet

A single tweet can split the hush of dawn,
A thin, bright note that stitches sky to earth—
A feathered herald, perched upon the thorn,
Whose voice, though small, can shake the morning’s girth.

In gardens where the dew still clings to grass,
It flits from branch to branch, a silver thread,
A staccato chant that makes the sparrows pass
Their secrets on, till every hedge is fed.

Yet modern streets have learnt to borrow that sound,
A ping of bytes that darts through fibre‑glass,
A micro‑burst where thoughts are briefly bound—
A digital tweet that flies beyond the mass.

Whether it springs from beak or from a screen,
The tweet remains a pulse, a fleeting gleam—
A reminder that the world, though vast and keen,
Can hinge on one small sound, a whispered dream.