Regarding Robin

Enfleeced by frosty zephyrs,
Harbingers of not yet spring,
I am summoned to a bower
hid beneath dead twiglet things.

It took but just an instant
to squint, hunt out the source
of a chirrup 'mongst the thornbush:
Blood Breast in the barren gorse.

I tiptoed in with wonder,
what world have your eyes seen
from your not so lofty lookouts,
through the earth's polluted screens?

What love song can you echo
when you sat on city sills?
What heartbreak stole your heartbeat
when humans pit their wills?

How much longer this cold winter?
When will sun melt all this frost;?
So new life, hopes reawaken
before all our dreams are lost?

Robin roused from his own rapture,
we beheld the other's gaze;
bird and man both long for freedom
from these wretched winter's days.