Some say (a poem about grief)

 

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.