Robin Red-breast

by Rick Brentlinger
(Pace, FL, USA)

American robin

American robin

American robin
Dead robin



He graced a budding peach tree limb
And filled my world with song;
Delighted at the birth of spring,
As one who'd waited long.

Yet soughing through the bare-limbed trees,
A lonesome song did float;
As on the gentle drifting wind
Was heard a breeze-born note.

And soon, two robins built a nest
In which to hatch their brood;
Gone now the aching loneliness,
The melancholy mood.

Each one lived for the other,
Solicitous and kind;
Two lives with just one purpose,
Two wills and yet, one mind.

When from the house across the street
A laughing little boy;
Out playing with his BB gun
As if it were a toy.

Took aim at robin red-breast,
Who, mortally wounded, fell;
No more with gladsome singing
The morning breeze to swell.

And once again, the mournful notes,
The frantic, lonesome cry;
A solitary robin wings
Across an empty sky.

Yet when another winter's passed,
And early flowers spring;
I listen for the tell-take notes,
And hear my robin sing.

And wonder if a laughing boy
With lethal reach and long;
Once more will fill the sky with death
And kill my robin's song?


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Robin photo by Ltshears;
Dead robin photo is in the public domain.
Both, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.


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