Amidst the white wall of flakes,
The mourning dove rests unmoving
Twixt a frame of darkened wood.

A puffed chest resists the cold
When all other winged forms took shelter
Amidst the white wall of flakes.

Does he watch the snow with me?
Two souls sharing one experience;
The mourning dove rests unmoving.

Or, wings taut against his flanks,
Does he mourn his lost and fallen friends
Twixt a frame of darkened wood?