| The robin is the one That interrupts the morn With hurried, few, express reports When March is scarcely on. The robin is the one That overflows the noon With her cherubic quantity, An April but begun. The robin is the one That speechless from her nest Submits that home and certainty And sanctity are best. |
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The only robins we get here are the ones just passing through -- although my bird book for San Diego says they should be here. Several years ago as I left for school I saw about a dozen robins in the neighbor's olive tree. It was early spring and they didn't stay.
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