Robin My Hood

Robin my hood...

As the rains subsided,

I spied a mother Robin today

dancing on clawed feet

across my long driveway,

and I could swear I saw

a twink of merriment in her eye

while she was robin my hood.

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For there before her

was a veritable smorgasbord

laid out in lopsided rows

for this sole bird to feast upon.

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Scattered in a huge length

lay her fondest dreams come true,

you see the rains have been rampant

and all the worms have fled the earth,

seeking the higher ground

of a black asphalt sanctuary,

steaming in the spring wash.

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They had but two choices

slow drowning in the rising puddles

where grass once protruded

or a quick snatch of a sharp beak

and then regurgitation into

the tiny maws of baby birds>

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It's not easy being a worm

you have to eat dirt and you smell awful

and the only other thing your good for

is to attract cold fish

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But if that Robin could chirp a tune

I am sure it would be tweetling

quite brightly through

its worm encrusted beak

"Nobody likes me, everybody hates me

I'm gonna eat some worms!!"

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I watched it for awhile

and when it had taken its fill

it flew in a bloated way

off into the cloudy horizon

bearing life for some

fuzzy headed specks

of egg burst hope

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Then at least one hundred

spared brown commas

relaxed a wee bit as they

stretched their segmented

sections in relief

across the somewhat dryer

less fatal oasis of my drive.

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Totally unaware

that many of them

later that day

would be sacrificed

to all of my Goodyear's

under the rubber tread

of my four tires exiting

across the backs

of their last refuge.