I Miss Him Everyday

I have been absent from you spring, for I have lost my canary who used to sing. He used to call to me with sweet lil' chirpings, placing the spirit of love and youth, in everything. Inside the scent of a flower that blooms on my kitchen sill, inside a robin's orange breast, no I no longer hear, His morning trill. I can no longer praise the deep vermilion in my rose, for I have lost his canary voice, the one that sang to me in prose; I have been missing you spring, since winter's gleam has been no more than a weak sparkle in my eye. He soared away with wings lifted off into a morning ray, and now I miss him, every day.