Robin’s Song

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I sit here trying to work
while my body weeps for you.
Somewhere, a robin sings,
calling its mate to its own treetop.
That bird is me,
and this is my song.
The love in my heart will not stop;
not even I, by an act of will,
can make it stop. Like the instinctual bird,
I must sing, I must love.
It is the instinct God gave—
to find the mate to whom you belong;
when you do, that love will not end.
And I found that mate in you.
Even with the robin, there are complications.
The materials needed to build
are not available;
A hawk attacks the nest.
Does that mean the robin, in love, stops singing?
No! The robin sings all the louder
with what God gave him.
He praises his love,
calls to his lady,
as I call to you.
What we have is instinctual and rare.
In desperation and agony, I—yes, I—
this flawed and imperfect bird—
nearly destroyed it.
But one cannot destroy the sacred.
Life happens within and among it.
Pain comes, and then joy.
I accept both, and I choose joy.
In the twilight of the day,
the wind dies down.
The forest quiets.
Just down the shoreline,
I hear it—the robin sings!
It’s voice is happy and satisfied,
as if it knew all along
the final place at which we would arrive.
The nest is right. The two are happy together.
God’s instincts are satisfied.
And as the moon rose,
I swear I saw it smile.
This will be ours. And I love you.
Anthony Signorelli