Robins are birds who shouldn’t be trusted
They charm you with words and chests that are rusted.
You are out in the woods with trees that are green, surrounded by redwoods that know where you’ve been
You are out in the woods and you hear a voice. So soft in your ear, it presents you a choice:
‘Come here small child, I’ll teach you to fly.
How to be wild, and how not to cry.
I can show you to soar if you let me show how.’
So you say: ‘Sure! Please show me now!’
‘Just climb up this tree, all up to the top. From here you can see it’s a terrible drop.’
The sky is so big and the ground is so far. You’re grasping a branch which cuts and it scars.
It says: ‘See the moon? You could go there. But you have to leave soon To show us you care.’
The robin says: ‘Wish on the moon and jump!’
But you trusted too soon
and landed like: thump.
Your face is all red and you bones are all shattered. You’re filled up with dread, your blood is all splattered.
The redwoods look down, and remember your story. The robin, with a frown
said ‘Wow how you bore me.’
Grasping the ground, you lie there and cry. You’re trying to sound
‘O why can’t I fly?’