That robin and his persistent call of "Marco"
I answer with "Polo" and the game is afoot.
It's early, only January, and frost still covers the grass.
His loneliness has brought him out in the cold.
I am happy to befriend him and tell him so.
He will meet others of his kind later,
Likely even a lady who will want to get to know him
In the way that robins do.
But for now, it's me and him.
Marco and Polo until one of us grows weary
Or cold and moves on to other sport
We two frosty playmates.