The robin

No. 6 on the route

A bird deserves its own name

and one color, and sometimes as many as two.

So with paint and brush God went wild

in his painting studio.

He painted around the clock,

the sparrows were turning brown.

The jay a tuft of fur

the woodpecker a red crown.

When all but one of the birds

were provided with a color,

God was pretty tired of painting,

he stopped.

"What about me?" the robin asked angrily,

'Will I remain gray and drab now?

Toe open your color box again,

don't leave me in mourning.

But God said, "Figure it out for yourself.

I am now out of make-up.

The robin flew out of his nest

looking for red ink.

He found a rose bush, fiery red,

And crept close to the leaf.

But not that he changed color,

he didn't change a bit.

Love gave him new hope,

he whistled a happy song.

But only his cheeks blushed red

His chest did not change.

Then the robin sought the battle

With a magpie, very bold.

His chest swelled from all the envy,

but his feathers remained sallow.

He got so tired of all that work,

Of his failures he was very aware.

Saw the door open at the Beugen church

And on a crucifix there he found his rest.

A strange crown wore Christ's son

Of thorns, false and cruel.

The robin picked from the crown

A thorn that cut into the body.

A drop of blood slipped from the wound

and landed in the plumage.

'Yes now,' said the bird, now with red on my chest,

'you finally see what my name is.'

© 2021, Geurt Franzen

After a story by Selma Lagerlöf