On the coldest of cold winter days
the birds continue to fly their ways.
How do they do it, you might stop and says.
Well they live in a scene
more mystery than seen
more grounded than any quick meme.
The cedar waxwing is reliant
on seeded kernels hung defiant
that represent the Tao compliant.
In frozen air they dart in parry
sent by the secret aim they carry
fed by the fruit of the hawthorn berry
that outlasted the storm of November
and surveyed the dark ice of December
as a skin wrinkled spot of summers bright ember.
Then seed is spread on Darwin wings
as we measure this cycle like squat little kings
and confirm our sacred human reasonings.
But tell me what drives the forces of natures bent ?
Where is instinct pre-packaged and sent ?
How can such feathers be so resilient ?
The answer is not found in vector sums
for meaning is beauty and with knowing becomes
a neat little soul that never succumbs.