Cord Byrd: “this is entitled ``Looking Up At Him'': I asked the robin, as he sprang From branch to branch and sweetly sang, What…”

“this is entitled ``Looking Up At Him'': I asked the robin, as he sprang From branch to branch and sweetly sang, What made his breast so round and red; Twas ``looking at the sun,'' he said; I asked the violets, sweet and blue, Sparkling in the morning dew, Whence came their colors, then so shy; They answered, ``looking to the sky''; I saw the roses, one by one, Unfold their petals to the sun, I asked them what made their tints so bright, They answered, ``looking to the light''; I asked the thrush, whose silvery note Came like a song from angel's throat, Why he sang in the twilight dim; He answered, ``looking up at Him.'' Mr. President, this month, our nation recognizes National Poetry Month, a celebration of poetry and its place in American society. Like spring, poetry offers man a rebirth of his inner spirit. Poetry expresses our humanity, and, through meter, makes music of the spoken world as it rhythmically sways and floats through our imaginations. It is the laughter of children, the gentle rustle of an autumn breeze, and the pitter-patter of a sun shower. Poetry, simply put, is beauty defined. Man comes a pilgrim of the universe, Out of the mystery that was before The world, out of the wonder of old stars. Far roads have felt his feet, forgotten wells Have glassed his beauty bending down to drink. At altar-fires anterior to Earth His soul was lighted, and it will burn on After the suns have wasted on the void.…”