Here, where trees and foliage meet;
Where rippled waters glide,
A robin’s joyous tree top song
Has stilled my metered stride.
He serenades his melodies
In songs no man can phrase,
Ensnaring thus my dreary soul
To listen to his praise.
Could it be, his whistling tune
Reflects a sad unrest?
For one departed – from this earth —
Interred in heaven’s nest?
The answer fades, for I must go,
I’m feeling winter’s greet.
The sound of snow upon the ground
Mimics kitten’s feet.
Till spring has come, I’m sure I’ll miss
His ballads through the glen.
But when the white grass turns to green
I’m sure we’ll meet again.