Gloomily, he looks up and sighs at the sky, :: Where birds soar and clouds fly, :: None, save Robin, really knows why. :: :: After the solemn autumn, comes the winter frost, :: And by the crackling fire, Robin sits, :: Thinking of things so dear that he has lost. :: :: Perhaps, someday, the people say, :: When the snow clears and winter has gone, :: In dear Robin’s heart, spring will have finally come.