The blackbird that landed outside my window,
This morning, while there was still a chance of frost,
Looked ominous to my sleepy and suspicious eyes
As though his tiny presence brought prolific cost.

I unlatched the pane and leaned out to scold him,
He bounced out of reach on thin orange stems,
He opened a bright orange beak and suddenly caroled,
A rippling, trilling burst of exuberant gems.

I gawped at this unexpected, transient gift,
And froze so as not to interrupt the show:
The blackbird’s present vivified a cold morning,
Wound up quickly, and then the blackbird chose to go.