When I am tired, I tend to write poetry about something that I would normally not write about. It’s like a different side of my writing. When I wrote this poem, it was supposed to be snowing outside…
But nothing happened. The sky was clear, no clouds in sight – a beautiful day, really, but not what I expected. So I sat down and wrote a poem that takes place in the snow.
But I am still waiting on those snowflakes to come down and shower the earth and grass until no more green is visible.
This is a rather short poem, but maybe I will add onto it later.
Who knew these blackbirds would sing through the snow?
The snow graciously landed on their tail feathers, not waiting a moment
Before covering the land with a clean blanket
It caught the attention of the lonely blackbird
He sat on the frail branch of the tall, bare tree
And past him flew the letter that was never received
Its ink showed itself to the snow-covered bird