The Last Of Summer's Shriveled Leaves Held On,
A Blistering Wind Had Grasped Their Frail Stems,
And Ripped Each One Off Until They Were Gone;
They Fell Slow Between The Tree's Tangled Limbs
The Last Of Springtime's Robins Had Shivered,
The Orange On Their Bellies Now White From Snow,
Winter's Cruel Bite Seeping To Their Liver,
As Their Eyes Lost The Summer Sun's Stale Glow
The Last Of Fall's Lazy Currents Had Ceased,
And The River Creaked With White, Crispy: Ice,
Robins Scowered What The Ice Had Released,
Skittering Along The Banks Like Starved Mice
The Warmth Within The Trees Has Now Vanished,
The Robin's Song Was Now Chilled And Famished
I Took A Walk The Other Day Along The Now Frozen Mississippi. A Flock Of About 20-30 Robins Landed In A Tree On The Bank Next To Where I Was Sitting. The Bank Was Sligtly Open And They Picked Through The Frozen Dirt For Food Which Wasn't There... There Is A Condition These Robins Suffer From Which Doesn't Allow Them To Return South Because Of The Corruption Of A Gland Behind Their Eyes Which Allows Them To See The Magnetic Field Of The Earth--Which Is Their Built In GPS. This Gland Has Been "Whacked Up" Because Of The Frequenzy Emitted By Cellphone Towers... Last Year In The Middle Of December A Flock Of 9 Surived Until The First January Blizzard..