The Robin and the First Snowfall

Note

Snow fall in Ireland is rare enough in many areas, especially in the South, where I live. But when it does, for Children it brings joy and for Bird life it brings what seemsto be a tougher future. But for a Robin it may be just as hard to tell. The Robin holds for many a spiritual significance in many ways. If a time came that we no longer see one. Then what? But in order to get the flow I wanted to have, I risked some little detail.

This poem was inspired by Ireland’s first snowfall (if we had one), a moment of joy for children and quiet struggle for birds. The robin’s search for sustenance reflects fragility and perseverance, while a subtle, gentle presence threads through the cold, a whisper of hope, care, and enduring grace in the natural world.

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(This is not the best image for this Poem But it has to work for this one as the Poem is enough for this topic. . All thanks go to AI and its attempt to provide the image I asked for. Thus credit goes there))

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The Robin and the First Snowfall





Amid the first faint fall of frost, the children chase their cheer,
 their laughter lifting lightly through the lingering winter light.
By briar-bound garden gate, a lone robin lingers near,
 its fragile feathers folding as the cold wraps round the night.



Across the quiet, snow-soft ground, it searches seed or crumb,
 for winter’s whitening wonder hides the harvest from its view.
Though youngsters’ yells of joy through morning mist may hum,
 the robin bears a hollow ache,  a hunger heaven once knew.



Along the hedgerow’s holy hush, faint shadows rise and rest,
 as stillness settles slowly on its small and shivering breast.
Yet in that chill and changeless air, a gentle grace will call,
 a warmth that winds through winter’s weight, bidding the bird to rest.



Amid the whitewashed world’s embrace, a softer solace stays,
 a light laid low, but lingering in the slowly-falling snow.
And in that hush, that heart-held hush, a Presence threads its ways,
 a quiet kindness keeping watch, a love the robin softly knows.



And as the pale, late snowfall drifts in feathers from above,
 the robin settles slowly in the shelter of the briar.
For in the stillness, something stirs, a softened, sacred love,
 a low, abiding lullaby that lifts its spirit higher.






Copyright © 2025 Pat Fitzgerald 
All Rights Reserved

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ENDING THOUGHTS:

Thank you for following me on my little journey, that is composing or writing poetry. If Life is a journey which we all walk on and my journey in creating Poetry is a journey of it’s own. Which I still learn much on as I write.

At times I experiment on methods or way how I can improve my poetry, therefore getting feed back is always most welcome for such as these.

When I write poetry, some readers may be offended with something within the poetry. I do not write to offend, But such are written for reasons I outline in the posts. Often I miss typos and mistakes when publishing each poem. I correct the moment I discover such mistakes.

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