A lone robin sits on a tree. Gazing at the horizon, so free. But why has spring not yet arrived? The world is still, the air deprived
No chirping birds, no blooming flowers. No warmth to melt winter’s icy showers. The robin waits, perched on its bough Hoping spring will come, and soon, somehow
But still the snow falls from the sky. And the robin wonders, with a sigh, When will the world awaken from its slumber? When will the trees and grasses number?
So the robin sits, and looks, and waits for Spring to come, through the cold and straight.