A pair of eagles migrate;
gracefully riding thermals.
Robins pick worms from the field;
really are the first birds to wake.
Pileated woodpecker patters on trees;
its call sounds like a monkey in the woods to me.
Dark clouds and southern winds;
rain, not snow, shall fall today.
The dog chews on a found bone;
a deer no longer roams
declares its throne.
Last of the snow-mountains,
Still so high,
Glad winter is over,
I thought I’d be buried alive.