Max Michelson

From “Winds of March”

The bare boughs are alive within,
And the young buds are trembling and curious.

IT’S for you, little bird, of course,

This sign is meant;

For you burrowing with your beak,

And shaking up sprays of dust.

Do you not know

How the earth held each yellow shining speck

Close to itself, feeding it, breathing on it;

And from each rain-drop

Picked out the winy pearl

For it to drink?

Hop away, little one; go find you a worm,

Which with its sleek body, alive, has rubbed

Against wet earth,

Has tasted the sunlight and the warmth;

Or some buzzing one with wings,

Drunk with the sun, whose breath

Blows it up today

And will blow it out tomorrow.