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
(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.
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.
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