Momma used to say,

Robins only come when the rain goes away.

I used to look out the dust ice carved windows,

Holding close to me the warmth of my blankets and pillows.

The waiting seemed endless,

All for the sight of something so senseless.

It would mean everything for me to go back,

To that morning when the light was black.

Because nothing could surpass,

The sight of a robin laying in the shadows of dew covered grass.