The Robin By Henry Beer (Poem)

 

The Robin

By Henry Beer

The robin is a lusty bird,

A pioneer, I'd say.

He comes when chilling winds prevail,

When clouds and storms hold sway.

The robin leaves the sunny south,

He loves the north land best.

He loves our summer, spring, and fall,

'Tis here he builds his nest.

The seasons he can well discern,

He knows when spring is here.

And other feathered friends come too,

When robins do appear.

We hear him in the early morn,

He sings a joyful lay.

The art of industry and toil,

The robin does convey.

The robin is a friend of man,

He builds his home near by.

He nests on ledge of porch, or roof,

Or lilac growing nigh.

The robin is a builder too,

His nest is neat and round.

Although 'tis made of mud and straw,

A work of art is found.

The robin eggs are heavenly blue,

How pleasant to the eye!

The eggs retain the color of

The blue, ethereal sky.

The robin careth for his own;

His brood is well supplied.

If base intruders enter in,

They boldly are defied.

They are a blessing unto man,

For countless bugs they eat.

The worms that spoil the fruit and tree

Become their food and meat.

'Tis true he loves the cherries bright

That hang in trees quite high.

The cherries which we can not reach

He takes as his supply.

Shall we deny the scanty store

That creatures need to live?

The good they do for us is more

Then they ask us to give.

This bird with coat of crimson-brown

Is welcome to our heart.

When chilling winds of autumn come,

From him we're loath to part.