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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact

"The Infant Robin" (by Joe DiMino)

The infant Robin
In his nest—
Redder, and never still
His mother’s near breast—
Affirming with throbbing:
Life is in her,
Life is in he—
Their hearts finding tune reiterate—
Rhythm after rhythm
Confirming by beat:
Life is timing,
Life is music—
We tweak our sound
Till auditory sweet—
Learn each, you birds, to sing your song,
While fluttering wings
With clearly
Flirting Dawn;

The graceful bough of their tree,
Openings between leafy canopy—
Just the right shelter,
Just the right free—
The tree and birds
Equally blessed,
But vigilant Mother-earth
Must never rest,
Her nurturing work
Never done,
Her battle
Yet to be won (one)…

They all wonder of spring…
Ask of scent
And foliage?
Of breeze
And why wings lift?
They wonder of
Amazing gift…
Who could do
Such marvelous thing?
What great note
Was first sung
Making all things sing?

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