Robin in the tree


The wind in the poplars whistles dry words
No languid whispering of the summer past
Grass hangs heavy and damp with rain
The robin’s sweet song will be the year’s last.
But beyond cold winter’s darkest times
Through clinging mists and the steely rain
Echoes the sun-sweet robin’s song
And the hope that spring will come again.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

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