Beneath some clouds on a blue-sky day A poet stood prepared And on a limb of an apple tree A robin pensively turned The poet stood erect and booked A candle in his hand The robin perched alert and plum A worm held in his beak ‘Tis thus,’ pronounced the poet ‘I have seen and it is true’ The robin turned a fury head And salivated if birds do The poet read and read From chapbook, scrapbook, cookbook too The robin listened, eating worm Then retorted a little chirp With reading finished Worm devoured Poet said to robin Man shall not live by worm alone The robin fluffed and sang a tune Lifted lightly overhead And placed upon the poet’s chapbook And answer in red and brown.