Our red-breasted herald of spring
Never left New England
For southern climes.
A December spring
Pushed winter off
Until Valentine’s Day,
When we suffered the slings and arrows
Of Cupid’s wintry chill.
Down by the ice-capped river
Winter robins flitted
From bare branch to bare branch
Above the frozen snow,
Searching the landscape in vain,
This cataclysmic turn of events
That left them orphans in the cold
Instead of heralds of
A New England spring.
Valentine’s Day, 2016