Red Robin

It is February and already the red breast of Robins now grace the lane Forget that dumb groundhog who doesn’t know there’s a difference between snow and rain They pecked and scratched about with abandon hopping among the dead leaves strewn around They looked like a tiny oil pump dipping to pull a wiggling worm out of the ground While just a few red Robins it is true that their presents just might not mean a thing Still, I will choose to trust my feathered friends who tell me to prepare for early spring