4 December 2012
Plump baby robin, Sitting on the branch, Bobbing around, Feathers all blanched.
A chest of crimson, A back of chestnut brown, An innocent little face, Wearing a frosty crown.
Picking at a cluster of berries, Sprouting near his feet, Scavenging around, For something to eat.
Something rattles nearby, Scaring him away, Back to his nest-he flies, Until another day.
Mr. Robin • Opuss № I