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
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