Bird on the bare branch,
Flinging your frail song
on the bleak air,
tenuous and brave –
like love in a bleak world,
and, like love,
pierced
with everlastingness.

O praise
that we too
may be struck through with light,
may shatter the barren cold
with pure melody
and sing
for Thy sake
till the hills are lit with love
and the deserts come to bloom.

Jane Tyson clement