The robin hears me coming 

Long before I see him 

He makes a run for it 

Wings tucked tightly 

Matchstick legs atwitter 

Pausing to check my progress

A small patch of ice ahead

He does not recognize it 

But I do 

A slip and slide ensues 

Tail feathers prevent a tumble 

Back to his feet lightning fast 

The matchstick scurry resumes 

Robin weaves right

I’m turning left 

Why not take to flight, little bird?