One that didn’t make it through the spring

After Frost

It’s hard to tell what bird it is
Singing in the misty wood,
Or the reason for its song
So late after evening’s come.

When all else has dropped its name
Down into the scented dark
Its song grown cool and clear says
Nothing much to anyone.

Yet it catches hold a whisper in my brain
That only now is understood.
It says, rest your life against this song,
It is rest enough for anyone.

Brian Patten


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