i wonder if the robin who has landed in my yard
thinks the best worms are to be found here
thinks you know their bouquet is rarely excelled
not even by the ones in the big field with the oak
i wonder if he cocks his head and briefly looks at his
reflection in a cold glistening rain drop
hanging just barely from an extra tall blade of grass
does he hop up into the little dogwood and survey
the lawn from his lofty perch of four feet
and wonder if he should top off the worms with a few
miscellaneous bugs before he wings into
the big tree across the street and puts his beak into the wind
whistling through the bare winter branches
wonders if any of the other robins know it’s his yard
it doesn’t matter
he does

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