Before sunrise. Before even the break of day. The first robin begins the overture. Others soon carry the melody. Soon, the sound of their choral arrangement shakes away the last hope of sleeping in.
Before sunset. Before even the hint of twilight. The last robin refrains the coda. The harmonies have ended. Only the last repeating notes of the melody remain.
They’ll continue this conspiracy throughout the spring. They will not stop until they delight every listener, to the point that all drop to their knees and wet their sleeves in gratitude.
blossom haze
a blue jay arcs across
a clear sky
Frank J. Tassone 
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