Mr Redbreast

Little Robin Red Breast
Sitting in a tree
With black diamonds for his eyes
Peeking out at you and me
Thinking soon it will be Christmas
The season he gets fame
Yet no-one ever stops to think
And ask of his real name

For in fact he’s not called Robin
But to be honest prefers best
The name of Jim or Tom or Rob
Or just Mr Redbreast
Anything bar Robin
He flutters and he tweets
For Lord or Earl, Sir or Count
Would really be quite neat

And so as yuletide happens
And bright red chested bird
Frequents your cards and trinkets please
Doff cap as is preferred
And nod to Mr Redbreast
Be him called Rob or Jim
Or Tom or Ray or Bill or Ben
And raise your glass to him

 

© Francis C. Franklin / CC-BY-SA-3.0 [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

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The Robin

Hip hip hooray for the robin
A lively little bird
Ubiquitous in many sense
A chirp that can be heard
Not far from feet in summer
And winter all the same
With red breast and black beady eyes
Enjoying British fame
As country’s national sweetheart
Amongst all birds we see
Christmas card pin up; gardeners’ friend
Entwined in our psyche

  
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/User:Baresi_franco