Sing Sing Robin

Poetry

The Robin is back,

He’s claimed his patch and sits high and sings to the world.

He sings his prowess, red feathers fluffed up, his is the best of nests.

Sing sing robin, sing sing to the spring,

we hear your call and we answer.

The buds are appearing and the greening is nearing

as the Cailleach pulls her shawl tighter.

Fierce garden singer,

in cherry and thorn,

to the north, to the south, and between.

Sing sing robin, sing sing to the spring

For soon you will have little ones.