Little do they know
These eskimo-birds that pepper the snow
Outside my sliding door,
I wait for them to come every year.
The hardy tiny ones that dig at the snow
With their delicate feet,
Have nothing to fear from me.
Each morning before they appear on my deck
I throw seed on the snow that has fallen
While we all slept.
I’ve built them a place to buffet the blow
Of those winds that rise up from the deeps of the snow
To ruffle their tail feathers.
I keep them sheltered and fed,
Hoping that each day they’ll come back
And get me through the long days of snow ahead.
Kathleen Mortensen © 2016