Tree limbs sway gently;
Bird on porch pecks anxiously;
Gray sky speaks of snow.
Bird swoops gracefully
At the corner of my eye;
No birds in feeder.
Waiting to fly forth
Birds gather in the bushes;
Know I will soon leave.
Barking in the car,
Little dog wants to get out
And be somewhere else.
Barely shining through
Sun tries to break out of clouds:
Winter tug of war.
Over the roof tops
Thick gray snow clouds are waiting
For just their right cue.
White topped sharp thistles
Seem friendlier in the snow--
Bend down gracefully.
At top of the trees:
Leaves still waiting for the wind--
Their fellows have gone.
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