Thanksgiving's Over
by Jim Schneider


We’ve handed out snacks,
put air in one kid’s car tires
and driven another to the airport.
It’s cold and grey and windy.
As I water the spring plantings
one last time, I notice the small tree,
so naked without its leaves,
at the edge of the lawn.
It holds a tiny bird’s nest
maybe five feet off the ground.
No! I want to protest. It’s too low.
A cat or raccoon will get you.
But I know it’s just nature.
If they made it, the little birds,
so much hardier than they look,
are now twittering in some warm place,
while I alone have winter on my mind.






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