The snowbird flies.
Her white feathers a contrast
to the purple tint of the sunrise.
With each flap of her wings,
it’s like the angel sings.

The fox of the den below
watches the snowbird
as he feasts on a baby sparrow.
Her beauty and grace
leaving behind a trail of white lace.

Though the fox is full of deceit
he scowls, for there is
nothing too pretty for him to eat.
Coming up from underground,
he listens for the bird’s singsong sounds.

He follows her throughout the forest
not stopping at the mouse’s den
or at the delicate bird’s chorus.
As the snowbird stops to rest,
the fox lunges for her breast.

Goodbye snowbird, I will turn my head
as your feathers turn to liquid and run down your back,
as you’re laid down to bed.
Goodbye snowbird, see you soon.
Goodbye snowbird, see you when the hydrangeas bloom.