Tired from labour, lost in a trance,

I, the traveller, was plodding on,

Pursued by the cold's ambiviance,

Anonymous indeed to everyone;





The sky flashed, the rain poured,

Soaking me right down to the skin,

When by the tree an angel soared,

His song alighting the twilight dim.





Serenading his well-plumed sweetheart,

He called forth into the night,

Pleading, gesturing, twanging his harp,

Putting quaint notes to flight.





He seemed a strangely alien thing,

Out of place mid winter's chill,

A reminiscence of long-lost spring,

A darling fairy like the daffodil -





He told me a tale of enchanted lands,

Marshy plains and timeless forests,

A world where the Great Auk stands,

Unmolested in its festive frolicks.





A sprightly throstle, chorister of the skies,

A heavenly angel or a 'ticking' wren,

Stunning and startling with your cries

You brought to my world spring again.