The clear piping of a robin rang above the quiet of the sleepy morning street
A distant conversation of neighbors drifted through the open door;
Faint voices, murmurs, tones, fell into repose.
Silence threw her cloak of repose through the trees and shrubs.
Small breezes whirled, the rushing air stirred up the silvery backs of maple leaves
Silence returned all to stillness.
Then again the robbing piped
As it had piped before
Long ago, when
In my bed as a youngster, the sweet smell of early morning hay
Drifting across the fields, freshly cut alfalfa melded into the dew.
The timeless songster sings yet to guide me to eternity.

The summer morning was broken by your song.
You called down the rain