The bird, perched high on topmost twig,
Observes the frozen field
Light gusts disturb his feathered rig
No leaves serve as his shield.
He bobs his head from side to side
Seeks movement down below
Cold weather means a rocky ride
Life hidden under snow.
Pale plume of smoke from chimney stack
Means people warm within
Blurred footprints leave a tell-tale track
Outside by rubbish bin.
The sun casts rays on terrace walls
And potted herbs asleep
I listen hard, the lone bird calls
Deep silence, then repeat …
February’s cloak is soft
It frames Dame Nature’s face
But when her frosty hat is doffed
Life will pick up pace…
(c) Poet in the woods 2021
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