| A Solitary Note
by T. L. Johnson
On a frosted wooded break of day
the white birches and grey poplars
stand barren against November greys,
the sprigs of twigs and branches
hedged with the evening's first snow
arch over the wooded heavens.
Along the stilled pond's edge, wedges of golden grass
crop through tufts of wintered drifts where
leaning aged posts run aside frozen fields,
the barbed fencing enclosing the broken sod.
All is still and bleak and chilled
when the tawned little sparrow perched
on the lone branch of the barren birch
rustles his soft brown down for warmth
and heard is a melodious solitary note
a lone little chirp, his hope
to meet his mate after wintering the worst
to scale with in harmony.
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