The Early Bird
A Robin Redbreast, as conspicuous as a crimson drop of blood,
stands out against an alabaster landscape of Winter's white.
While hunting for worms, it starts scratching
at small patches of green grass and sprouting snowdrops.
And its persistence pays off, for to my astonishment,
I watch Nature's magician pull a rabbit from a hat, so to speak,
wrestling a wriggling worm from freshly thawed earth.
My first sighting of a Robin this spring
brings a smile to my otherwise dreary day;
recalling that old cliché, the early bird gets the worm.
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