While admiring eastern pines

this morning, I paused

to marvel at my heart

for knowing how to beat.


I watched the red bird prince

briskly hopping

along branches of holly,

eager to claim the berries

of color and liveliness

equal to his own.


He had a tiny snow-cap

atop his head, and behaved

like such a gentleman

that I sensed less betrayal

in the world,

and in myself

a trifle of harmony.


Like a moment spent singing,

the sighting exalted me,

bringing me tidings

of gladness and goodness,

as if he were

a little winged St. Nicholas.


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