There's a bird outside my window

trilling at the snowfall,

unhappy in his day.

I wonder why he hollers 

but then the world is covered 

in white lattice flakes, 

accumulated to a point of blinding

glistening flurry, demanding value

of appreciation and applause.

I pause because it’s lovely

to watch fall through the window;

picking up the pieces is the burden.

This bird knows the truth,

he sings his disapproval, and 

I hum along as I shovel the drive.