Robin zooms from a wavering power line
and bounds into soaked, front-yard grasses
like a young child running whimsically into
a wide-opened playground.
Strutting and skipping in a sudden straight-line fashion,
he pecks dark, dampened dirt like a chicken sorting seeds.
He salutes the moment in a dead-in-the-tracks stop.
Lifting a wet head toward millions of glorious raindrops,
he tilts his mouth in open-beak design. ‘Tis time. ‘Tis time.
One quick peck finds the prize, a juicy wiggler,
a rambunctious, squirming one, a gymnast of sorts,
enjoying playfulness in wet grasses just as much–
but not quite as content in this gentle afternoon rain.