Three stanzas, three senses, and one sentence that keeps coming back with a single word changed: "And I'm so glad I see... I hear... I feel." Skyril's "Feel" is built like a small staircase. Each quatrain takes one sense, and the closing line swaps its verb to mark the next step. The speaker moves from looking at the world, to listening to it, to being touched by it. The central idea is that simply being alive to all this is a reason for gladness.
The first stanza is all eyes. Robins (spelled "Robyns", which gives the line a storybook, old-fashioned flavour) and squirrels announce that "life is everywhere." Then comes a nice reversal: "the even blue sky looks at me." The speaker is not only watching, because the world watches back. "Even" suggests a calm, unbroken blue, and against it the "crimson moon" is a jolt, red and a little strange. The line "There, a crimson moon- I stare-" is chopped up by dashes, as if the speaker were pointing and then falling silent. Those dashes run through the whole poem and give it the breathless quality of someone noticing things out loud.
In the second stanza the mood darkens slightly. A bell brings "a message from a friend." A bell carries no words, yet the speaker reads it as a message, so sound here means connection. Then fear walks in: "an owl's cry I fear." The inverted word order probably helps the rhyme with "hear," but it also puts the cry first, the way it would hit you in the dark. The stanza then relaxes into its longest line, "Listening in the night to the gentle wind," which stretches out as the speaker settles. The gladness, in other words, does not depend on everything being pleasant. The speaker is glad to hear even what frightens, and that gives the poem a more grown-up edge than its simple vocabulary suggests.
The third stanza is where the poem turns. "Mountains shake me from above" is the most puzzling line. It might mean mountains towering overhead, or awe that physically rattles a person like a tremor. Whatever the intention, the effect is sheer scale. "Everything I touch is so real" then brings the speaker back down to the body. After that comes the hinge word "But." The biggest thing in the poem's landscape is outweighed by the smallest gesture: "a hand brushing mine is love." "Brushing" is light, almost accidental, and it is the first time another person's body enters the poem. Until now the friend was only a bell's ring. The poem has travelled from distance to contact. The title works on two levels here, since "feel" means both touch and emotion, and the last line asks for both.
The construction supports this climb. Every stanza rhymes ABAB: everywhere/stare and me/see, then friend/wind (a near rhyme rather than a full one) and fear/hear, then above/love and real/feel. The rhythm is loose and speech-like rather than strictly metrical. Lines also tend to shrink within each stanza, from long, wide-angle sentences down to the short, plain refrain of about six syllables. Each quatrain narrows from a sweeping look at the world to one simple statement of thanks. The diction is plain too. Repeated "so" ("so real," "so glad") has a childlike directness that suits a poem about taking nothing for granted.
The poem's significance lies in this modesty. It does not hide behind irony or complicated imagery. It takes the senses, which are the most ordinary equipment a person has, and arranges them into a quiet climax. For a student reader it shows how a refrain with one altered word can drive a whole poem forward, and how a plain list of sights and sounds becomes an argument once it is ordered well. Judging by the repeated "glad," the poem also suggests that gratitude is something we practise by noticing: a moon, a bell, an owl, a hand.