THE robin to our terrace comes
Three times a day, in search of crumbs.
He has to be quite slick,
For out of trees and on flower border,
Swoop magpies, all in pecking order;
Jays too – ‘look out – be quick’!
And then, for a few weeks a year,
He has a great deal more to fear,
From gliding sparrowhawks,
Who know of the feeding station,
Much to robin’s consternation.
‘Stay home – no hops – no walks’!
Then, raptors gone, back out he flies,
Fluffing his red breast to the skies;
Irrepressible little bird.
Foraging for his family,
On fine food from RSPB.
We watch – our spirits – stirred.