An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
—Thomas Hardy, The Darkling Thrush
Icy winds blast frigid cold
In this everywhere of snow
Little bird you are so strong
Light up the evening with a song
Is there no place you can go
To warm your fragile feathered soul?
How can you radiate delight
On this coldest winter’s night?
The greatest courage is to sing
In the face of shocks and stings
by Richard W. Bray
Tags: Poetry, sad songs, The Darkling Thrush, Thomas Hardy, Whitney Houston
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