luckylittlefirefly

One green morning, our fat little faces Look out the kitchen window and Find a robin and her nest on our windowsill. She carries baubles and trinkets—candy Wrappers and foil—before her vivacious Red breast and weaves them tenderly into her nest. My mother, laughing, says She’s dizzy with anticipation, painting ponies And clouds on nursery walls. Soon enough little blue eggs fill The happy twigs and their gaudy trappings And the robin settles—snug, waiting. We, too, wait for spring miracles on the Windowsill.  Weeks pass—she sits faithful—but Eggs remain eggs. Mother gets an odd pallor and avoids the