Little bird on snow-topped fence
Hoping that the snow relents
To let him find a worm or crumb
Perhaps some cheese, to fill his tum
How cruel the winter’s biting chill
Preventing him to get his fill
Of tasty morsels, hidden ‘neath,
The frozen ground on hill and heath
Oh how this little bird would sing
If someone near would only fling
A piece of bacon, buttered scone
To stop him dying all alone
But the robin is a sturdy bird
I’m sure his song will soon be heard