Little pine twig took to bouncing
As its method of announcing
That a visitor had
landed on its snow.
There, defying wintry weather,
Was a puff of bright red feather
Like a symbol of the courage
he must know.
Then he gave the world an earful
Of a song so sweet and cheerful
That it seemed the garden
ought to come awake;
But I’m sure he knew it wouldn’t —
Knew his efforts simply couldn’t
Melt the frosting on
a February cake.
Still he sang with all his being
‘Til he really had me seeing
There against the lacy
background of the pine
One small scarlet heart a-beating
As for someone’s heart competing.
What a lovely little