And, as a gift to anyone reading, a new year's poem. This one has a winter theme, and I've entitled it "Questions about Birds":
Soon, when cold comes,
No bird will sing.
That red cardinal fussing now--
There! You see!--
Outside the window here,
At that sleek-furred squirrel
Astride the tree's limb,
Bloody feathers spiked with rage,
Flight more fury and more flutter
Than buoyant sweep of wing on air:
What will come of him?
Where does he sleep when snow flies?
What incommensurable hole
in the world's heart
will his death tear?
