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A Fine Feathered Friends Poem
As your voice sings out loud
In this cold time of year
You stand your breast proud
Hoping your soul mate will hear
So few have remained
They have flown farther south
Seeking warmth and the grain
To fill belly and mouth
The trees are totally bare
Their leaves now covered in snow
As winter’s chilled air
Has become all you know
Your mate returns clutching
Within her tight beak
The smallest of morsels
The pickings are meek
Most creatures are quiet
In cutouts and caves
They’re not wandering out
On these cold winter days
Before you will know it
My fine feathered friends
Spring will be here
And winter will end.
— WOLRAD
(A poem from the Wolrad collection #144)
