I sit on a fir branch and
Watch the snow dance
Listening to the Wind sing her song;
I can hear the constant chatter
as the other birds all natter
and I huddle
Knowing now it won't be long.
As salmon skies fade to winter grey;
and eventide calls them all away,
I flex my ebon' wings
and glide - as tho' on strings! -
Suspended from a leaden, snowfilled sky.