The Redbreast Poem by Gert Strydom

On the garden gate it does sing
its welcoming song to the rain of spring
and dances up and down and to and thro
as if this song is its essence of living

and so it does continue while the first drops fall
as if it has a build in knack for the rain to call

and yet on a sunny bright hot day
it does on the mown lawn hunt its prey
in coiled movements do deadly peck
and from its sharp gaze nothing gets away

while for a microsecond it does inspect
be it a snail, worm or a insect.

As a terrifying little machine that does some killing
it picks up a twisting little thing
or using a stone as an anvil hits a snail shell against it
where it's preoccupied on its own instinct for living.