A Poem By: Bryan Pentelow

I have survived Christmas, and we have just collected up this season’s crop of cards from the various people who still remember us. I have been struck by the number of jolly, red-breasted robins which adorn these greetings. This feathered inhabitant of our gardens has a reputation for festive frivolity and is associated with the brighter side of this dark time of year. Those of us who are familiar with the true nature of these feisty little chaps know different, so I have penned a short verse to set the record straight.

I’m a Robin, me

I’m hard, see

I stands me ground

From all around

I’m a Robin, me

I’m a Robin, me

I’m tough, see

Those chirpy chaps

In festive snaps

Aren’t hard like me

I’m a Robin, me

Get orf me tree

Go take yer songs

Where they belongs

They’re not my melody

I’m a Robin, me!**!*!!

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