The Cardinal's Song

A cardinal sits nearby the road I walk,
Perching among the branches of its tree,
Whistling from its grey and woody stalk
Of budding sycamore – it says of me,
‘See this poor man walking, shoulders low
With heavy footsteps and downward cast eyes.
He does not see the barren, melting snow
Give way to let the living springtime rise.’
I heard the cardinal’s words and watched with care
As from its crimson body rose a song
So celebrant with laughter and with flair,
It chased my frigid sorrows far along.
From then on down the road, I kept in mind
The bird’s aside, and sought to act in kind.

I think this one is really well done.

thanks!