Stephanie ventures into new creative territory with this composition. In this poem, a passerby on a winter evening notices the statue of a robin and wonders why it is there, who made the carving, and why children are fascinated by it. Surprisingly, the stone bird answers, but only in riddles. It becomes apparent that it is not the spirit of the living bird, not of a human artisan, but of the great Creator who can give life to stone.
Robin, why do you linger here when all your friends have flown?
What cold enchantment holds you fast
and turns your wings to stone?
Who made your rocky nest amid the pillars tall and grey?
The winter wind is blowing now – you should be far away!
What clever sculptor fashioned you and set you near the sky,
So twisting children, whispering, point up as they pass by?
(the bird replies)
My master was a carpenter; He built a church so great
It stretches all around the world, yet dwells within a heart.
His hands are hardened by His work: they show the marks of love.
His head a gnarled coronet wears; his spirit is a dove.
My Master, born in poverty, knew sorrow, grief and loss.
He healed the sick with selfless love, but died upon a cross.
When all the city streets are free of hunger, fear and pain
my Master shall return with joy, and I shall fly again.
Here, then, I will stay, and sing my silent song of love
until my Master comes again and turns this stone to blood.
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