What The Robin Knows by Jon Young

The robin knows the earth and worm,

examines, head tilted, the advance

of moss across my garden wall - 

a cushion for speckled eggs

in Spring, but for now, he will sing

us through the dearth of winter,

his fences built from music and

alarm calls of rapid tick-ticks. 

Here, he shows the ruby anger

of his breast, the blood 

of trespassers, the timber 

of his heart. The robin knows

to bring water to extinguish 

a flame, to bear his own light

in the darkness of a storm;

he will mourn an old year, but

his liquid song flows into the new.

The robin knows to stay and when

to follow the marks of cattle

that have broken the frost,

and whilst he is the flight

of my thoughts - he is never lost -

he is tied to magnetic fields,

entangled in the physics 

of quantum mechanics 

that flicker behind his black eye: 

all these things he comprehends,

but I do not think

the robin knows it's Christmas. 
 

Image is my own of the book 'What The Robin Knows' - it's a brilliant book, but don't buy it as a book about robins if it interests you as almost none of this poem is based on the book's information - the book, despite the title, is about all birds, not just the robin. It just made me want to write a poem about robins, especially at this time of year. 

If you would like a little joy in your heart, here is a robin singing: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Nrw9xPCFtYw

And their alarm call: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=MVD7dtXRdQo

Image on Twitter: https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Erithacus_rubecula_1869.jpg