Sitting in a whitewash kitchen
Gazing out the window
Winter glazed over the treetops sprinkled with icicles
Clouds danced across the sun
When there I saw
A curious sight
High in the skeletal branches of the plum tree
Perched midwinter
Read-breasted against a bleak, gray sky
A robin
Cooing softly
Its sweet music eerily misplaced
In the dead of December