In December its easy to see
Hawks and waxwings
Flying from tree to leafless tree,
Olive, orange and rust against the gray.
And I worry they may lack
Berries and mice in such fresh, cold air.
Turning, as dry leaves stir
Who will draw curtains against the chill
Who will land this night in linen and lofty down
To worry no more - or less,
And who will tuck heads beneath a wing
And in the dawn seek well with keen eyes
Their daily fare