There is a singer eveyone has heard, <br />Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird, <br />Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again. <br />He says that leaves are old and that for flowers <br />Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten. <br />He says the early petal-fall is past, <br />When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers <br />On sunny days a moment overcast; <br />And comes that other fall we name the fall. <br />He says the highway dust is over all. <br />The bird would cease and be as other birds <br />But that he knows in singing not to sing. <br />The question that he frames in all but words <br />Is what to make of a diminished thing.<br /><br />Robert Frost<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-oven-bird/
