Merle

The sea and sky are grey—
As with the grief of those who've mourned;
Yet through this drear December day
A lonely merle to song has turned.

Brave bird, for you no fears!
Though to the sun you're strange—as we,
Across the waste of these last years
Bereft of all hilarity.

Then, bird! be voice for all
The sad who have forgotten song.
Shake far that trilling lift and fall
Of notes, and take our hearts along!
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