Many years ago, in the month of February, when spring came early to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, I was sitting in my rocking chair by a floor to ceiling window; I was reading late; it was past midnight. Our apartment was built on the top of another flat roofed building, so right outside this window was not only a view of the city but also a very good view of the rest of the roof.
On this particular night, winter reminded us that, although the weather had been unseasonably warm, it wasn't yet spring. The reminder was a violent storm of sleet and heavy winds. I couldn't have been more shocked when my reading was pleasantly interrupted by the sound of a songster singing for all it was worth right outside my window - sitting right there on the roof in the dark of night, in the wind and freezing rain. This little bird sang for some length of time; it was like a gift. I wrote the following poem. Like some of the others I've posted today, this one might not represent my best work; but it made me happy.