Ice glazed tips, on coal black branch
a robin shivers. Eyeing shriveled morsels.
Snowflakes drift yet robin’s trills herald’s spring
and a promise.
Slush dribbles down the window. Winter mold
covers shaded grass adorned with faint shrew paths.
Up then down a nuthatch skitters on the old elm,
seeking spiders, oblivious of gravity. The crabapple robin
sings on a melancholy, cloud scudding day. South Africa beckons
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