
For the Bird Singing before Dawn Poem by Kim Stafford Some people presume to be hopeful when there is no evidence for hope, to be happy when there is no cause. Let me say now, I’m with them. In deep darkness on a cold twig in a dangerous world, one first little fluff lets out a peep, a warble, a song—and in a little while, behold: the first glimmer comes, then a glow filters through the misty trees, then the bold sun rises, then everyone starts bustling about. And that first crazy optimist, can we forgive her for thinking, dawn by dawn, “Hey, I made that happen! And oh, life is so fine.”