Feathers in The Freezing

Feathers in the freezing 

with a modicum of warmth, 

shivering for summer 

with its plethora of worth. 

The birds that never left, that stayed in their sweet nests 

in trees barren and naked now, frozen to their feet 

and more, swaying to the colder wars, 

with wind to whip like cavalry, and meanly, 

and the trees and birds gone to grieving 

but the cemetery is sleeping 

under glaciers for these months, 

all the tombstones lost and sunk 

nevermind the absent sun. 

But it comes back, eventually, tucked away in January 

that missing sun survives the ice, to which it melts into new life 

and the birds can safely sing no strife, 

when the sun again settles in our sight.