I wrote this in 1991 when I was about 17. I have resisted any temptation to "improve" it. It’s a short poetic story recounting a real event in my life where I realized that I’m just not a killer.

I was born from a simple family. Simple to tell.

My biological father left me when I reached the age of four years.

"Robin, papa will go away." She said, holding my shoulders. I just watched her face. Increasingly gaunt face with pale white skin makes it increasingly looks like a vampire, if only to maintain my father quite long canine teeth. Then my eyes fell on a small line below the nose. And I also realize that it’s a nose hair hanging out of his nose.

You need to read to enjoy!

Singing.

Nature poetry describing the season of spring.

Country Tales.

Sounds, sights, smells of summer.

The robin lifts a dreary day.

Based on an old story I heard long ago.

The fearless little bird.