Poor Robins
The robins came and they’re
confused.
They hop about and search for
worms.
With frozen worms, they feel
abused—
First day of spring in winter’s
terms.
At piles of snow, not one’s
amused.
They miss the worm that writhes
and squirms.
Poor robins wish that they
stayed south.
Like them, I feel down in the
mouth.
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