The Robin That Could Not Fly
Red breasted, slightly dismal.
Chirping softly beneath the old oak tree.
Worried I approached slowly but
It showed agitation as if afraid of me.
I saw a hawk hovering above.
Bet it thought it was her day
To get a free meal but
Not if I could help it, it was not her prey
I found a stone and aimed high.
Bulls eye, the hawk flew far away in fear.
Slowly I approached and gathered
The poor bird kindly in a clean woollen wear.
My house was not far from the oak
I luckily found help near by
A wild life rehabilitator
Who knew what to do. Never say die.
Days passed and suddenly
A robin flew up on my window sill.
Was it the bird I had saved?
I dream it was, for that’s why dreams are a thrill.
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