Robin In The Straw

A robin scratches right and left
About the straw-embroidered hem
Of beds where flowers burst their shells
But he is not in search of them.

He kicks out gayly with his legs,
He thrusts in wildly with his beak,
I wish I might encourage him
But he would fly if I should speak.

I stop my day to watch him work.
He pulls and winks his head about,
And spreads his wings and stamps his feet
When worm resists his coming out.

When I go plowing in the field
With hat and coat hung on a limb,
And sweat to hold my plow and team,
I wonder how I look to him?