A Robin sang for me this morning
In branches hidden by leaves
I did not search for the singing bird
For searching quenches the quiet mind
Throws mindfulness into the ditch
And I could disturb the rupture of its song
I did not wonder where the voice came from
Or the generations that made the bird
Or wonder how its beak makes its sound
But I walked down the wood
With the bird singing
Adding its smile to leafy branches.
