Robin

Baby robin, chirping sweetly

to summer airs above the earth,

feel the moment skipping fleetly

beside the birdhouse of your birth.

Baby robin, high suspended

beneath the limbs of trees that stand;

do you sense a world upended,

or yet surmise a guiding hand?

And should you fall from that high nest,

and flightless crawl among the grass…

What doubts would lodge within your breast

if all the worst should come to pass?

You helpless little flightless bird

that’s fallen on uncertain ground,

although I’d help you, what’s a word

when death and predators abound?

Little bird, I wish you luck,

if wishes have effect at all.

And though you’ve now got sorely stuck,

I hope you’ll more than learn to crawl.