Robin Red Nest
That little red nest,
my heart,
hearth and home
to a galaxy of gods
who nest there,
year after year,
migratory spirits
blessing me with
hope renewed
in their spring
nest’s tangle:
feather and twig.
Old now,
you thump to different rhythms
not to mention
the schisms sprung from my body.
Age winds you up like a watch spring
stretching my lifeline egg-shell thin.
When the wind of change
blows me away,
what will replace you
and your offer of sanctuary
to those you daily nourish?
So sad I will be
to abandon you,
your visions unfulfilled
as winter winds unravel you
twig by twig
until nothing remains
but the bare
white-boned cradle
in which I carried you
so lovingly.
rogermoorepoet 
Every year, the harbingers of spring and of rebirth, the return of the robins. Time marches on.
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They are a long way away, I fear. The temperatures were high today, but the snow accumulation is massive.
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A few years ago, when we had a particularly snowy winter, the big piles didn’t melt until May!
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That’s what it will be like here this year. There are some enormous piles outside the supermarkets. And parking spaces are much reduced.
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