|Robin in the late afternoon
The window’s open, so I hear
each crystal note. Even with eyes closed,
I know a robin when I hear one,
telling the air between us how happy he is
about the soft rain and its summons
to the worms in the dark underground.
A pause. And then he sings again
from a more distant branch, but just as clear.
Or is it his mate? No matter, it’s a robin song,
a shower for the heart. I am no worm.
I do not tunnel under sod. But I am called,
beckoned into fresh hopefulness.
Bless God for birds, their vowels
pure and persuasive as spring rain.
Luci Shaw 5-20-13