Wintering Poem

In a quaint village, dusted with snow's soft sheen,
There dwelt a lone bird, in winter's embrace keen,
Perched atop an ancient oak, sturdy and grand,
Overlooking a sleepy, frost-kissed land.

Feathers ruffled against the chill, brave and bright,
He watched the days shorten, and longer the night,
His song, a silver thread in the crisp, cold air,
A melody of resilience, sung without care.

Beneath him, the village sparkled like a jewel,
Children laughed, their breaths misting, in winter's cool,
Homes alight with warmth, fires crackling with glee,
A tapestry of life, vibrant and free.

The snowflakes danced, a ballet so light and pure,
Each one unique, in its descent, demure,
The bird, enthralled, joined in this winter's tale,
His wings spread wide, in the northern gale.

He soared above rooftops, white with winter's kiss,
Gliding over rivers, frozen in bliss,
Each morning he greeted with a song so clear,
Echoing hope, and banishing fear.

As the village nestled in winter's long dream,
The bird became its guardian, or so it would seem,
His presence a reminder of life's steadfast will,
Even as the world around lay quiet and still.

For in this winter's tenure, both harsh and sublime,
The bird found strength, in the passage of time,
And when the snow melted, giving way to spring's dawn,
He sang of the winter, now past and gone.