little bird
waiting for the others

ready for a fight
against frozen nights

the frost-laden dawns
heavy mornings where

the sun is loathe to rise
I’m a little late

to replace the feeder
you wait on a bare branch

still and small as a leaf
for the pink glass globe

of nectar
of life itself

snow begins to fall
is it right to intervene

or like all else
is this kindness

guilelessly but still
something else