November Robins

Breast the color
Of weathered bricks
Shiny black head
Of the male
Duller charcoal black 
Of the female
Dirty yellow beak
Feathers charcoal grey
Beads of black for eyes
Accentuated by rings of white

It is the eyes
Which captivate
Seeming to penetrate 
Deeply into my soul
They remain fixed
Not deterred
By my return gaze

In Ireland
The robin (spideog) 
Is considered to be
Sacred
Believed to have
Acquired its red chest from 
The blood of Jesus
When removing 
Pain-inflicting thorns 
From His crown
As He hung on the cross

Many cultures
Attribute Legends 
of heroism and self-sacrifice
To the small birds
Calling their red breasts 
A badge of honor

The American robin
Is a thrush
The European robin
An Old-World flycatcher
United by the red breast
They are both called robins

Scientists say
The robin’s eyes
Sense the weak force
Of the earth’s magnetic field
Giving them a compass to navigate by
What force do they sense
From me
What do they wish me to understand?


I wonder
What causes me to be
 Filled with awe
And covered with goosebumps
As I gaze into the eyes
Of these birds
Believed by many
To be messengers for those 
In the spirit world.

November robins
Eleven of them 
Living in their winter flock
Hop around the yard
Pulling up worms 
From the earth
Soon they will be existing
On berries and seeds
As winter hardens
The earth.

November robins
Hopping from branch to branch
Atop the crab apple tree
Feeding on their winter food
As mother deer
And her fawn 
Munch the fruit
Fallen below

Yes, winter is coming
But spring will return
And I will once again
Work in the garden beds
With these same robins
Living in pairs
Singing that familiar 
Courting tune 
They will sit nearby 
Waiting for me to unearth
A scrumptious treasure

But for today
I will enjoy
The gift 
Of 
Robins in November!