Friday, May 02, 2008

The Robin by Emily Dickinson


The robin is the one
That interrupts the morn
With hurried, few, express reports
When March is scarcely on.

The robin is the one
That overflows the noon
With her cherubic quantity,
An April but begun.

The robin is the one
That speechless from her nest
Submits that home and certainty
And sanctity are best.

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1 comment:

  1. The only robins we get here are the ones just passing through -- although my bird book for San Diego says they should be here. Several years ago as I left for school I saw about a dozen robins in the neighbor's olive tree. It was early spring and they didn't stay.

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