YOUR POEMS Mr Robin Red Breast

I’m as fed up as can be. Sitting here in this cold wet tree. The weather’s wet and nobody talks to me.

My friend, the gardener, came and cut the hedge and took my nest away.

I have nowhere to rest and sleep. My home is in the rubbish heap. Mrs Robin Red Breast isn’t talking to me.

She said it’s all my fault, you see. Am cold and hungry and wet. No food on the bird table, as the rain washed it all away.

Think I’ll try and chirp and sing, see if anyone will come along and take me under their wing.

So I chirp-chirp, tweet-tweet-tweet. Soon a door opens in the garden shed.

I peep in.

Think I’ve been here before.

I know this place, its cosy and warm. The spade in the corner ready to dig up any tasty worms, I think.

I’ll just hop in this large plant pot on the shelf.

It will hide me and keep me safe and warm.

The window is open when I need to escape.

Oh just look at the time.

I’d better pop out and let Mrs Robin Red Breast know I’ve found a new home.

In a shed with a comfy bed

No more prickly hedge.

We robins are renowned to nest in the most strangest of places, you see.