I live in rural, western, Pennsylvania and when the first bird breaks the predawn silence it's a signal for a thousand more to join a chorus in praise and thanksgiving for the brand new day.

The bird in this poem, a cardinal, lives at the other end of the state in an urban setting where he sings at the back window of a relative's home in which I was spending a few days. When he first sang I waited for the chorus but it never came yet the bird took up his post each morning and sang his solo with gusto and passion.