I swore I posted this here earlier, but it does not seem to be true, so here it is.

~~

The first snow of the year spirals toward the ground,
While a robin tucks itself in upon a bare branch.
Afraid of the biting cold that surrounds it,
A cold that consumes its world and alters its way of life.
It is not the temperature that chills,
But the hard and careless wind that constantly blows.
The tree offers no shelter from the relentless bluster,
A skeleton, no shield against the outside.
The snow continues to fall out of an ever-expansive sky,
It begs the bird to fly away.
It calls the robin to seek a future.
The robin has duty to his home,
And stays with his skeletal tree.

~~Joe Mayer