The Robins (A Poem)
APRIL 01, 1959 by ANN TERRILL
Ann Terrill is a
Hymns of truth may die unsung
For want of men to sing.
But robins yearly take the job
Of building brand new Spring.
They live their simply patterned way
And somehow carry on,
While nations fall for lack of faith
To build a pattern on.
For robins never waver
In their task (a stubborn trait);
Nor set up limits on their time
(They can’t be thinking straight)!
What makes that type so unconcerned?
They might produce much more
Of sprightly sunny melody
Than Spring had bargained for.
What then? There is no guarantee
Of payment in advance!
They’re just too energetic, so
Best look on them askance.
They might encounter lots of things
Like hurricanes or snow,
Or scrawny worms or bigger birds
Or cats, or brats, you know!
They haven’t asked a subsidy
From God to cover these,
And don’t you think they’re foolish
To depend so much on trees?
But they go right on working,
Bearing young and singing, too!
Why haven’t they the sense to change?
Improve! The way we do.