Whisper of Light

January Robins in Michigan

I’m trudging toward Bethlehem
in this whisper of morning light,
as the Mohawk grows an icy skin,
its secrets to keep until March.
Within a skeletal shrub,
lonely December-drab robin
sings carols. I watch him rise into
the surrendering arms of a maple
and feel flurries on my face
and this warm sense of hope.

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28 thoughts on “Whisper of Light

  1. Here it is, brother, my Fave so far as I make the rounds. You knocked the prompt clear off the planet, creating a fantastic poem, a wordsmith’s dream, and it just happens to only be 55 words in length; wish I had written it.

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