The Herald

She comes in the silver between-
A ruffle of boughs the north wind brings;
Ember of dawn, alit to be seen,
Tinkles ice with her whisp'ring wings.

Beneath the settling moon hung low;
The lilt of song from a brighter time
When through the wood sprang life aglow,
Thrice-told in a chirruping rhyme.

And in those vibrant days we'll dance,
The robin and I on velvet dew-
A madcap's reel of happenstance,
And drink from the firethorn brew.