The Robins Know True Love

The Robins Know True Love

They sit close on a winter branch at dawn,

feathers pressed where the cold cannot divide,

no vows spoken, no promise written down,

only breath shared and eyes that do not slide.

One leans when the wind turns sharp and cruel,

the other answers without a single sound,

a quiet pact stitched into beating chests,

a knowing held where no crowd gathers round.

They do not fear the years that change the song,

nor count the storms that bruise the fragile day,

love is not loud, it does not beg or boast,

it stays when every reason slips away.

In the small lift of wing, the gentle tilt,

there lives a truth too simple to explain,

hearts survive by choosing not to flee,

standing firm through pleasure and pain.

No witness marks the moment love is sworn,

no ring glints bright against the open sky,

something deeper than a spoken word,

keeps them returning as the nights pass by.

They teach the art of staying through the frost,

of trusting warmth where winter takes its hold,

love is less a fire burning far too fast,

more like a hand that never lets go cold.

If humans watched without their hunger loud,

they might recall what once was understood,

love is found in constancy and care,

in being present because you said you would.

So let them perch above our broken ways,

two hearts aligned where simple truths still live,

the robins know what many souls forget,

true love is staying, choosing to forgive.