Little Robin

Photo by Donald Healy. Courtesy of Unsplash.

Sat surrounded by colours of orange and red, the leaves all fell and hit the concrete.

I waited, I thought that they would dance, in little circles in the wind but they never did.

Instead they were trampled on, rotting in the rain, crumpled up by feet

And in the dirt, in the earth, I watched a reflection form. That is when I hid.

That reflection was darkness, part of a storm that grew and it never went away. 

No matter how warm I tried to stay, no matter the hope I had, I lost love in my heart

And as it withered, my petals slowly broke, burned, I realised I could no longer stay.

The only thing that I saw before I died was the little robin hold on, as I fell apart.

When the storm went away, the little robin flew over, looked at the damage that had been done.

I have never seen a bird so curious, to chirp around broken stems and gaze at my leaves,

The robin sang quietly, promised he would protect me in the rain, and I asked why, because plants eventually die, and that I would soon pass on.

He said “ everyone will die, eventually one day but you deserve a long life” and up he flew to the trees,

Without the little robin, I would have sealed my coffin, and just been a pretty rotting plant never to be found.

But now when people look at flowers, they’ll do it for hours,

They find something pretty from something lost in the ground.

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