Bu aralar her yerde görüyorum. Öyle meraklı ve sevimliler ki! Irlanda\'da da popülermiş demek. Hakkında şiiri görünce paylaşmak istedim. \"That little poem hung on the wall of my junior school in rural Ireland, but I could recite it ever before I went there. My father knew it, as did my mother, and all my neighbors, even those who rarely turned up for tuition. It was the funeral bell of summer, the dirge of autumn, the lamentation of spring. Winter was closing in, if not already upon us. I could sympathize with the robin. It was symbolic of all of us whose rural inclinations and rhythms were as old as nature itself. It wasn’t so much that the frost and the snow were upon us, but also, those other cantankerous outfalls that the dynamic duo had in store for us. It was the drear and the misery, the long, long nights imposed upon us, the season of ‘drawing in,’ as we called it. That was what the robin did in the cross trees of the barn. Bury the head. Not just to sleep but to semi-hibernate.\"