I think you know that this is winter day. <br />This time last year woodsmoke blew us away. <br />Frost wrote the poem on tall panes of gray. <br /> <br />That was the morning of the yellow finch, <br />A dropp of sun upon a garden bench. <br />Light raised the bird's momentum, inch by inch. <br /> <br />You held your coffee cup up to the sky, <br />Promised as long as yellow birds could fly, <br />This anniversary would never die <br /> <br />I hold your words much prettier today. <br />Though where the bird went, who could ever say? <br />Memory locks all emptiness away.<br /><br />Sandra Fowler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-winter-day-2/
