The winter sun was feeble,
But it's pale distant light,
Was better than the freezing dark,
Of the never ending nights.
A crow sat on a rooftop.
It was his favourite spot.
He shivered in the sunlight,
And wished that it was hot.
He dreamed of all the summers past,
Of which he'd seen sixteen,
And wondered why they couldn't last,
Why nature was so mean.
He'd heard the tales of distant lands,
Where summer lasts all year.
Which made him slightly bitter,
As he'd lived his whole life here.
The thought that he would never see
Another summer's day.
Filled him with a sadness,
That wouldn't go away.
Adjusting his position,
He let go of his grip.
Touching on an icy tile,
He couldn't help but slip.
He squawked aloud, but no one heard
The curses he did utter.
Too tired now to change his fate,
He rolled down to the gutter.
Lying there in frozen muck,
He stared up at the sun,
And wished for all the energy,
He'd had when he was young.
But wishes wouldn't save him now,
Of that he was quite certain.
It was time to meet his maker.
Bring down the final curtain.
He closed his eyes and tucked his beak
Beneath an aged wing.
And so he would stay frozen,
Until the warmth of spring.
If life was like an hourglass,
His sand was all but gone.
He just hoped that up in heaven,
They had the heating on.