She flits among the holly leaves,
a tiny dappled short-winged wren;
she sings with joy above the eaves,
announcing hope throughout the glen.
Her songs now tell of longer days,
of glistening snow and evenings,
replete with vibrant trills that raise
a zest for feasts and frolickings.
While winter’s razor teeth can bite
frail birds aloft in freezing zones,
bel canto saves the wren tonight;
her chest beats warm as she intones…
refrains that ring of golden skies,
of warmth that balmy springtime brings.
A little wren in winter flies
among the holly leaves and sings.
—
© 2019 Barbara Gaye Wood