Early morning walk down the snow-filled street
No cars, no people, nobody but my dog and me
Tiny white flakes fall like dust on our hair
The crunch of my boots follows us into the silence.
Trees stand like white-haired sentries, watching
And then the plaintive song of a lonely bird –
One syllable high, second one low, over and over
Like a call, a question, a cry.
Its mate is lost, in the snow, in the woods
Gone, as the bird calls and waits, calls and waits
We trudge on, leaving the song of sorrow