BLACKBIRD WINTER

Photo courtesy of www.birds,deansfamily.com

 

 

 

The Sun is away on vacation.

So Mother Nature rests, tired of giving birth;

While worms enjoy a seasonal reprieve

Beneath the ice-bound earth.

 

Day from night we can only discern

By degrees of grey to black,

And the chill that pervades the darkest part

Brings a fear our bones will crack.

 

Growing weak from constant hunger,

Our half-hearted chorus at dawn

Is little more than a hoarse whisper

As another day is born.

 

Picking among the roots of plants

That are deep in hibernation,

The most fortunate ones of us may find

A morsel to ward off starvation.

 

But there simply isn't enough to go round:

Neither fly nor cricket in sight.

Our empty tummies churn and ache.

For a snail, to the death we'd fight.

 

Thin and desperate we turn to man,

Braving his cats and dogs;

For it's chirped there's bread and seed galore

On his table of pinewood logs.

 

It's true! We see it before our eyes,

Surely this must be a trap?

But the need for this life-saving easy meal

Overrides all fear of mishap.

 

We snatch and gobble, our eyes darting back

And forth should a predator spring.

Now satiated and fully revived,

We gratefully take wing.