The Old man and the Robin (Sad Sonnet)
Each day, he holds the patio to blame.
For what else could have frightened off his friend
What was it, that first morn, he never came?
What was it brought their friendship to an end?
For weeks the trust had grown between the pair
The food he tossed, decreasingly would land
A little nearer, daily, until there
He sat and ate while perched upon his hand
This little Robin redbreast had become
A catalyst to raise him from his bed
Until his kindly neighbour lent him some
Old wood preservative in cedar red.
I’ll wait till Christmas, then I’ll tell him that,
The little Robin?........... He’s inside my cat.
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