Robin Hums

“Can anything truly be defined?”

A robin hums on a tree, unexplored:

“Can anything truly be defined?

If all things fit a label fine,

What becomes of a song like mine?”

Its symphony stirred something I’d ignored —

A thought I’d shelved, a subtle chord:

Do we see clearer or just confirm more?

Of what we’ve simply stored before?

Never sensing the weight of what’s said,

Just mapping meanings from books read.

Answers rehearsed, already designed,

Truths bent to fit a comfortable mind.

Must everything wear a name, a face?

Fit into boxes, each in its place?

Where is the learning in that kind of frame?

Where all must echo, none may flame?

But what if —

Instead of defining all we see,

We listened with minds truly free?

What if we let the song just be — a melody

Like the robin, humming in its own key?