The American Robin
At the dawn of Spring a robin nests
In windowsills of old money homes.
This, the second of her broods. She waits
For fledglings that live in Nature's Easter eggs.
Pure and new - those children will share in grace.
The Blessed Mother rises up on - no,
Not some eagle's wings - but her own,
And courage courses through her brick-red breast.
Time - Springs Forward - Her children born
Unto this world; Children broken from the
Azure shell. Her home - just mud to hold
The grass and twigs. Lined too with softer brush.
And at the birth no song can top her hymn:
Cheer-up, cheerily, cheer-up, cheerily.
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