The skies are gray
With the hint of snow
Early Robins with no where to go
Foolish birds you say
Maybe, maybe so
But perhaps there is something that we don't know
Harbingers, yes harbingers are they
Southerly winds starting to blow
Tree buds and bluebells starting to grow
Do robins know when spring is nigh
I daren't nor will I say no
I'd rather have them, than see them go
Kiwa Creek
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