The Robin

A poem by Virna Sheard

Little brown brother, up in the apple tree,
High on its blossom-rimmed branches aswing,
Here where I listen earth-bound, it seems to me
You are the voice of the spring.

Herald of Hope to the sad and faint-hearted,
Piper the gold of the world cannot pay,
Up from the limbo of things long departed
Memories you bring me to-day.

You are the echo of songs that are over,
You are the promise of songs that will come,
You know the music, oh, light-winged rover,
Sealed in the souls of the dumb.

All of the past that we wearily sigh for,
All of the future for which our hearts long,
All Love would live for, and all Love would die for
Wordless, you weave in a song.

Little brown brother, up in the apple tree,
My spirit answers each note that you sing,
And while I listen - earth-bound - it seems to me
You are the voice of the spring.

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