Sparrows

Sparrows were flying about.

A couple of sparrows are building a nest on the balcony of my house.

This problem certainly requires a solution, but that's like shooting a cannon at sparrows.

I am scaring the sparrows away.

The sparrows are cheeping.

We are cheeping like sparrows.

A pair of sparrows is building a nest on the terrace at my house.

I spent that day listening to the lonely scrapings of a pen. During that time, from time to time, I heard a Java sparrow twittering. It occurred to me that maybe Java sparrows twitter out of loneliness too. I walked out to the veranda to see. Nevertheless, flying to and fro between two perches busily and incessantly, it did not show the slightest hint of grievance.

"He is dead and gone," she said to the sparrows. "We don't believe it," they replied.

Then little Gerda was very much frightened, and began to cry, but no one heard her except the sparrows.