A treble song shines
sweet In inner forest.
Filling the still quiet
soil as a soul conquest.
Small as the sun
behind the grey cloudiest,
hides carefully unseen
the blushing the gaudiest.
Gives this vibrant chest
it's voice to the river.
Already are they three
when the west wind shivers
One feather fall, like fall,
-golden coloures given-
yearns that last worm sunbeam
before the cold dark winter.
This, the robin's farewell
to it's lad life, seems
to me one of the most
intriguing of feels.
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