The Robin. Poem by Ginny S.

little red robin outside the glass
catching all the rain on a dreary day
i knew nothing of his past
but i felt familiar with him anyway

red-chest robin with his face in the dirt
all his friends were slimy little worms
he called the dry, thin twigs his perch
mothers keep your kids away; he’s crawling with germs

little red robin, how could you be
the brown-mask bandit of the maple tree
little red robin, can you hear my plea –
get down from up high before you feel too free

i knew it couldn’t belong until the sprig would break
a grim “cheerio! ” to the world he cried
his little red soul then the lord did take
when he swooped into the pane and died