There it stands, the bluebirds’ home,
Snow upon its faded roof;
Deserted and forgotten home,
Abandoned, saddened, and aloof.
Its sprightly tenants, distant now,
Splash some southern garden scene
Riotously, yet somehow
Harmonizing blue with green!
Here north, the gardener, kicking snow,
Aches for a flash of sky-hued wing;
Reading inside by the fireplace glow,
He dreams of bluebirds, buds, and spring.
by Ray Romine Monday, December 19, 1949
