Like most mid-winter mornings
the clouds are thick and low
there’s rain dripping from every
branch and every roof line,
the day is still quiet, waiting
for what is coming to take
over the warm weather we
are having, cold never gives
up in February and it’s not
many hours away on the
western prairires
moving this direction
without a consideration
of how tired we are of it
winter just remains
coiled up around us
On the wire outside my window
The cardinal sings
Like he doesn’t see any of this
doesn’t care, just sings hoping
for a mate I suppose, some
other bird of similar disposition
and feather
But he gets no response
So he sings again and again
Each time pausing for a song in return
He sings because that is what he can do
no matter the result.
There is no end to the bleak
Midwinter, the impending doom
Of ice and cold winds off the western prairie
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