SPRING

A red-breasted robin hops from porch
to ground to limb
beak to ground reaches
finds eats 
she looks up
(I never think of robins as "he")
listens to traffic
dogs barking
the children biking by
watches me watch her
eats again or maybe
drinks the dew from
the grass the wet ground
bear her thin feet
without giving
she looks between
me the ground the sky
and never flies away
hops back to porch rail
and waits--
her head up bobs
chirps sings
calls spring to her
from the cooling air
the greening ground
the thawing earth
the sprouting tulips
she prophet
conjurer

© Valerie Bridgeman
March 31, 2013
Resurrection Sunday
(FORGOT to post)