The first flurry brought with it the purest of snow,
and the wind fell and there was comfort
in the stillness of silence. And we breathed.
(Oh how we breathed and loved that first breath.)
Then fall after fall swirled round our loose feet
‘til our imprints lay hidden as we blackened the earth.
(There is treachery underfoot, it deep and firm-rooted.)
The bantams stay in their coop, rarely venture their run.
Outside it is too cold for comfort and huddle they do,
claws clasped round their roost. The feeder is full
and the nest box lays empty as eggs lie unlaid and future is lost.
You are cold; there is ice in your veins.
I effort a warm glow but can’t undo what is done.
You whisper in echoes and shout in your warnings
as we gorge in our feeders ‘til the feeders lay empty
and then lost and defeated, you are gone you are gone
you are gone.
And there is nothing left bar this strange comfort of cold
as it numbs up our veins and freezes our dull minds…
and we are gone we are gone we are gone
Shared with the good folks at Real Toads – cheers for hosting Rommy!
Image: Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons