A THRUSH WILL SING

Who planned October's silent song
Whose rhythm is the pulsing heart,
Whose melody is echo heard
From lost chorale the haunting theme
Of every solitary art?

Who gave October scarlet veins
With urgent messages to share
And yet no voice to shout aloud
From flaming leaf and golden bough
Its answer to despair?

When naked branches claw the sky
Bereft of hope, with laughter gone,
Snow will cover mellowed warmth
Of topaz, burgundy, and flash
Of captured scarlet dawn.

And memory of smiling days
Stirring lightly in their sleep,
Reminds her now that snow will melt,
A thrush will sing
And rivers leap.