Brilliant, bold, shining

Its iridescent glass globules

Hanging onto the tip of tree branches

Like former icicles when winter’s breath solidified them

Drops of precious moisture

A guarantee

Of life itself

And the robin sits on the top most branch of the birch tree

That has yet to bud

And sings praises to the skies

For the blessed gift of rain


One thought on “And the Robin sings

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