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