I remember that spring
before you left,
how the robins arrived.
Not the telltale one,
but hundreds.
They tucked in tight
under eaves and branches,
safe from a late-season storm.
They were there for hours
biding their time,
happy for the comfort.

I saw a robin today
and thought —
was that you?
Happy for the
late-season comfort —
any comfort.
Safe within transient
arms and legs,
biding your time.
Destined to fly off…
before I could
whisper I love you.

WORDS ©2013, Jen Payne
IMAGE: Then said the King in himself…, Marc Chagall

2 thoughts on “Robins

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