Songbirds

A poem

Winter’s claws still grip this world
though you and your kind
sense its grasp weakening.

You sing far before Spring
can be said to have arrived
with all its soft green luster;
its pastel baby blooms.

You rejoice before seeing
what you’re rejoicing over.

You sing before the sun
thaws frozen feathers.

You warble and tweet and hum
and join the chorus of all creation
groaning in hope and anticipation.

I listen and I hum, too,
even as I shiver.

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