The Breakfast On The Snow

All night the ghostly flakes came down,

And buried forest, field and town

     Till earth was white and cold.

All day the storm kept up its might –

For beast and bird was not in sight

     Except a desert wold.

Next morn the storm had ceased, but drear

The sunless landscape far and near,

     And in the barren wood

The birds, with hunger in their breasts,

Deserted sheltered nooks and nests

     To vainly search for food.

Round house and barn and lowly shed,

From dooryard tree to tree they sped

     With plaintive cries and low,

But nothing met their anxious eyes

Excepting bleak and dreary skies

     And miles of crusted snow.

The happy thought, a peck of grain

We spread upon the sunny plain

     Then quickly drew from sight;

Then one by one, and two by two,

Came trooping all that feathered crew

     Around the table white.

Were sparrows, starlings black as night,

And snowbirds, with their breasts of white,

     Each picking as for life;

Were robins, chippies, blithe and gay,

Nuthatches, and a big blue jay,

     Who loudly called his wife.

Were “Bob Whites” trotting here and there,

As if on skates, with haughty air,

     And bluebirds flashing low;

Woodpeckers large, woodpeckers small,

With scores of more, and friendly all,

     At breakfast on the snow.

The mom was loud with grateful song

And chatter from that woodland throng,

     Though skies were dark and low;

Ne’er was a gath’ring joyous more

Ne’er was a meal like that before,

     The breakfast on the snow.

circa March 6, ‘16