How hard it is to be cheerful
when the sky is one grey cloud,
yet there he is in driving rain,
undeterred and loud.
On the topmost branch of his
favourite oak, he proudly sits,
pouring golden sounds, down
into the swirling mist.
The mistlethrush, an opera star
among all the singing birds,
floats his heavenly song aloft
without using any words.
We may be feeling down and out,
our news just plain disastrous,
but when he sings so joyfully,
even weather is less atrocious.
Sing on bright messenger, sing on,
welcome visitor on rainy days,
for in our weary, broken worldyour song within us stays.
May 2021