Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Robins

(1881) / Artist:  Ida Waugh (d. 1919)
Robins

Today I awaken to their whinny,
blue sky beyond my window,
white light pouring through the panes.

According to the calendar
the equinox transpired a spell before,
but  they’ve stayed silent;
seeking in the snow for weeks
while Winter’s held the world
still, tight in his fist. 
(Is he, at last, losing his grip?)

So, I wonder now at their timing,
pondering the paradox: 
(chicken or egg?)

Has the season birthed their song
or do the robins sing spring into extance?

PSC/2014-Apr
   


Written for 2014 April PAD Challenge: Day 1 - A beginning and/or ending poem (Two for Tuesday)

 

4 comments:

  1. So lovely, my friend!
    Especially adore:
    "while Winter’s held the world
    still, tight in his fist."

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    Replies
    1. And so he has, the tight-fisted bum! ;-) THANK you, De! So glad you enjoyed it!

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    2. Pamela, I so like the words and sketch combo here!

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    3. Ahhh, thanks so much, Patricia! I appreciate your stopping by! :-)

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