all night long they were flying,
singing their signals, as they navigated
across the half-lit city
on, on to the north where
the barren land of winter will
spread a gracious table to nurture
if not to protect their future.
and i, wingless, only a witness
to the pungent smell of melting
soil, to the different greys
come to unfurl the life
dormant beneath the last
patches of rotten snow
