Through the window, he'd come everyday,
To get a piece of his favourite pie,
Come spring, summer, autumn or winter,
He knew, his meal would always be there.
Only this time, the freezing cold didn't spare,
Everywhere, those feathered lifeless bodies lay,
Of them, he too was one,
But, in spirit, he did still did come.
Copyright 2015 © Nandini Deka