Robin Redbreast

Winter teasing this morning,
a reminder it's on the way.
Snowflakes blowing and melting,
upon the ground warmed yesterday.

Robins gather on branches,
one flinches and fifteen take flight.
The barn cats snug in their warm bed,
wind howling through trees in the night.

Toasty fire in the wood stove,
an extra blanket on the bed.
Winter coats hanging on hooks,
evidence that summer has fled.

(Ok, Ok, I'll leave the poem writing to the pros...)

Robin Redbreast
by William Allingham

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer! For Summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our Thrushes now are silent, Our Swallows flown away, -- But Robin's here, in coat of brown, With ruddy breast-knot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! Robin singing sweetly In the falling of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough, It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And welaway! my Robin, For pinching times are near. The fireside for the Cricket, The wheatstack for the Mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house; The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow, -- Alas! in Winter, dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer.