04

The Cardinal Bird

Arthur Guiterman

Where snowdrifts are deepest he frolics along,

A flicker of crimson, a chirrup of song,

My cardinal bird of the frost-powdered wing,

Composing new lyrics to whistle in Spring.

A plump little prelate, the park is his church;

The pulpit he loves is a cliff-sheltered birch;

And there, in his rubicund livery dressed,

Arranging his feathers and ruffling his crest,

He preaches, with most unconventional glee,

A sermon addressed to the squirrels and me,

Commending the wisdom of those that display

The brightest of colors when heavens are gray.