melissaahowells
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The robins are drinking again.
The worms are safely frozen into the ground. The colder winters bring about conditions in which we all do the best we can. The robins have taken on some of the habits of the homeless. Learning how to make do with little. Gorging on what is available to stay alive, and only, later are they then found frozen... in the state of permanent alcoholic bliss or as the faithful would say in perpetuity. (An indefinitely long long time.) The facts are this: a bounty of holly berries red and round were the only food that could be found though they were mushy and rotten. Not enough food to go around for the so often forgotten. After Christmas? Yes. Oh Berries. Soft in the beak. Sweet in the gut. Poison in the blood. After several days with frenzied binge eating, over fifty dead robins lying in the frozen mud. And not a single cat around on which to lay the blame. (Having been too cold outside for most Mt Tabor cats.) Outside, now it is Spring. Or Spring is fast approaching. I hear the bright song of a Robin singing. He sings of plentiful worms and warm weather. He sings of possibilities. I will give him all he wishes. For he has survived a hard winter. And have not, we all? Copyright March 11th, 2013 All Rights Reserved By this Writer/Author Melissa A Howells/Meloo Straight from her Tilt-a-World Poem based on facts. There was a Robin-Kill in Portland during the coldest two weeks of winter. Facts are that there is often a corresponding "kill" of the homeless during the coldest weeks of winter due to exposure and often unfortunately excessive use of alcohol...often the only "pain killer" readily available to the homeless. Vote for this poem |
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