Emily Dickinson promised: If we help one fainting robin unto his nest again, we will not have lived in vain. Seems like an easy way to justify your existence -- until you're holding a trembling, barely cheeping robin too new for feathers, and he's just plunged from an invisible nest to a concrete stairwell, and you don't know whether to cover him with a blanket (but it's 110 degrees) or feed him (what? Osterized worms from an eyedropper?) or dump him onto a tree branch and let nature deal. Dig out some old, soft underwear, cushion a box and take him to Wild Bird Rehab. They're as calming as Mister Rogers, and they know, even better than Emily, how to save his life and justify yours.