Being Anthropomorphic With a Robin

Now that's one (not two) friendly fellow!

It's getting closer and closer to me.

Sneaking its way from branch to branch

In order to be with me.

But is it really being friendly?

Perhaps its being inquisitive.

Perhaps its being protective.

Perhaps it's doing maths.

Or perhaps I'm being anthropomorphic.

Still, compared to the wary and cantankerous crow,

This robin exudes Universal Brotherhood

And a strong sense of being at one

With both the universe

And everything else...

Or so, again, my anthropomorphisms have it.

The morphē of this little robin

Just happens to take on an ánthrōpos

Which perfectly fits

The silly quirks and biases

Of a single human being – myself.

Who knows, dogs may do the same thing.

Dogs may believe and feel

That robins like to sniff arses

Or eat Pedigree Chum...

So let the robin be.

Simply let it be.

Don't foist my little fantasies

Onto a being that's little more 

Than two inches long

And one-and-a-half inches wide.

A little pouch of flesh, feather and colour

Which bounces from the branches

And swings from leaf to leaf.

Let the robin be.

In any case, I feed it my seeds.

Problem is - they're covered in sauce.

So the robin has a jab at them,

And then turns up its nose... or beak.

But it returns again.

Jabs again.

And disdains again.

Perhaps it preferes tikka to madras.

Perhaps it prefers Mars Bars to healthy seeds.

Or perhaps it's all or none of these things...

There I go again!