The Cardinal

Before breaking dawn, the night hours 
still hovering in their dark brooding clasp
withholding time to favour the freezing rain 
glazing the landscape in ice, the voice of the
cardinal arose, a pure bell-like trill not of
rebuke but of pure unalloyed joy, anticipating
light seeping through the gloom. That
glorious bird with its brilliant plumage
illuminates the landscape it occupies
with its ruby-fired presence and song,
defiant of despair. Enduring the elements
humiliating its beauty, glossy feathers
reduced to bedraggled drench, he lifts
his throat to call forth a silver horizon
and the drying warmth of the golden sun.