pspoetry Day 3 The Robin (forgive me Edgar Allan Poe)

Flowers for the Robin

The Robin –arlene s bice

One lovely afternoon, while I was reading in my sunroom

A well written story of a lifetime remembered from long ago

While I grunted, near to smile, I looked and saw a robin all a rile

He tried to nibble, all aglow, nipping at my flowers all in a row-

“What’s he doing,” I pondered, “nipping at my flowers all in a row-

            Singly thus and naught I know.”

Ah, for certain I rely it was the middle of July

And each individual bloom teased that bird

I watched it closely—I had grown those blooms

From seeds and soil;–to full blown, my word—

Out of books, other advice and what I heard—

            Forever now I ought to know.

And the sun continued to shine in my cheerful sunroom

Contented me—I sat and the storybook settled within;

At this moment, the passion of the story, I kept on reading;  

He tried to nibble, all aglow, nipping at my flowers all in a row-

“What’s he doing,” I pondered, “nipping at my flowers all in a row-

            Only nibbling and naught I know.”

Soon my reading grew intensive, pausing no further,

“Dear author said I,” your understanding I beg;

Forgive me, I was dozing, while the robin was still in a rile

As the robin nibbled, all aglow, nipping at my flowers all in a row-

“Why does he continue,” I wondered, “nipping those flowers all in a row-

            I want but naught I know.”

And the Robin, ignoring me, still nibbles the blooms, gently

In my garden of flowers looking so lively and lovely;

As his eyes look up at me from time to time, determined,

And the sun begins to fade slowly from my ignoring vision

Still glued to the pages I’m avidly reading my vision

            affirms exactly what I need to know!

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