In the quiet of the garden
where the soft light filters through,
a robin lands so gently
as the dawn remembers you.
Her breast, a flame of ember,
glows against the morning chill—
a tiny, beating reminder
that love outlives the still.
She hops along the pathway
you once wandered every spring,
pausing where the lilacs bloom
to loose a trembling wing.
And in her patient singing
I hear the echo of your name—
a whisper shaped in feathers,
tender, timeless, never tame.
Some say robins carry messages
from those we’ve had to lose;
so I listen in the garden
as she hums your borrowed news.
And for a breath, the world grows light—
grief softens at the seam;
the robin holds you close to me,
as real as any dream.
No comments:
Post a Comment