A quiet winter poem about a robin with no berries or worms to find, and the simple kindness of scattering crumbs until the snow clears. Its gentle concern and soft ending make it well suited to a wind-down read.
From Mother Goose / Nursery Rhymes (traditional). See the whole collection.
The little robin grieves
When the snow is on the ground,
For the trees have no leaves,
And no berries can be found.
The air is cold, the worms are hid;
For robin here what can be done?
Let's strow around some crumbs of bread,
And then he'll live till snow is gone.
Public domain. Text from The Real Mother Goose (Blanche Fisher Wright, 1916), via Project Gutenberg. View the source edition