Leaning towards the south
Blasted by the winter winds
Taking it all
In their measured way
Holding their own
For another
Snow driven moment
Gripping the rail
Girded against the gale
All for one small seed
Or a taste of suet
Such a fine-line scribes
Their economy of survival
I’ve invited them inside
But they decline
Muttering
Something about the loss
That comes with your
Cautious civility.
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