Not Yet Mr Robin
Mr. Robin arrived on Spring's early Tide
Of mid-March born to a chill wind born
From his wing dropped a feather
Foretelling milder weather
Yet those slants of ice in the air
Hunger pangs, mealtime's prayers
'Twere no whistles of mirth
'Twere no worms in the Earth
No gentle rains to nurture the ground to give birth
To shoots of bright blossoms or soft-pedaled roses
Nor even a hint of green-tinged garden-hoses
All still lay bare, brown, hard as a rock
"The Earth be not ready!"
Quoth her biological clock--
When through the heart of Mr. Robin
Hurtled Winter's last gasp
A glistening icicle
In the shape of an asp
Copyright © Gershon Wolf | Year Posted 2018
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