Mistle Thrush

Storms a howling
On the coast
Dark as hell,
Yet ebbing .

On the fence
Sits Mistle Thrush
A speckled breast
And gray.

Lesser buff
Than sister Song,
But none the less
A fighter.

Sings for wind
And sings for rain,
Sings for snow
And thunder.

Mistle Thrush
Will strong perform
As long as there’s
A fury.

If only we
Were quite so wise
To sing when storms
Are threatening.