A flock of fat red robins
not up to the sky
they fly
to the soaring sycamore tree
that flanks the field
across the street.

Lined up like overfed soldiers
birds bounce
feathers flounce
a branch dance
then they swoop willy nilly
down and around
into the seasonal creek
that puddles up after recent rain.

Sparrows sashay in to sip
then dart away
but the robins stay
and play.

Splash dunk drink.
I think
spring comes soon.

—Susan Taylor Brown

See the full Poetry Friday roundup via Tabatha Yeatts at The Opposite of Indifference.