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

Behind us.