Nestling Robins

In the crabapple tree by the side porch,
a tiny barbershop quartet leans
shoulder to shoulder, not quite ready
for concert, but practicing hard,
their heads thrown back, breasts puffed,
beaks wide as they shape the one pitch
they've been trying to get right
all morning, squeezing their eyes shut
over the effort. They want so much
to be heard, but they have sustained
that one note so long that it has
lifted right out of them and vanished
into the flowery crabapple shadows,
leaving them gaping in silence.

Copyright © 2004 Ted Kooser All rights reserved
from Four Corners
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission