Seeing the first robin open its young, black beak,

perched amid the budding red trees,

my eyes drooped down to the dry, pale grass,

sword-like blades pricking my bare feet.

I braced myself for the robin’s gleeful cry

that would only disturb the dead,

and make the living deaf.

But my heart skipped a beat

when struck with a melancholic chord.

Nothing more than a feeble murmur,

lullabying the earth with its silent dirge.

I met the robin’s egg-shaped eye,

Its small head tilted down in sincere surrender.

The wind’s majestic arrival only a slight breeze,