‘There it is, the little Robin
on the bare grey branch
fluttering its wings.
A joyful note of life
in the chilling fire of winter
which reveals the mountain-tops untrodden,
outside thought and visions.
There it is again, the joyous Robin.
But it seems in vain that I should try hard
to throw down the walls of its prison,
to see those depths of its life
which truly deserves a name
outside the darkness of anonymous likeness.
It sharpens its beak on the ageing wood.
I look it in the eye, in silence,
resurrecting for the sake of my own soul
that way of looking long blinded. …’
From the poem ‘The Robin’, by Ioanna Moutsopoulou
Cycle III: Faces of Life
To read the whole poem, please, click here to order the poetry collection ‘Souls of Nature’
(Photograph by wikipedia)