this robin outside my window remains unbothered,

Singing its song as brightly as spring,

Melting away the winter snow.

Picking feverishly at the frost-hardened earth,

Leaving prints lighter than the floating feathers left above.

Curiosity unleashed among the stretched arms of

The empty oak tree.

Chest bleeding the word of god,

Forgiving the sins of the frigid december air.

The only color in sight,

Burning brighter than the faint sun shining.

The rolling winter clouds dance with

The song of the robin.

This robin outside my window does not know it is not

Supposed to be there;

Defying the odds of nature was never its intention,

It just happened that way.

Smothered with grace it sits in a hubristic pose,

Defiant through the swirling winter snow.