A Year of Poems – Day 65

Wreaths in January,
red berries on bushes
the only hope for birds.
The robin pauses poised
to spring at green grass,
red feathers against leaves
darkened by the rain drops.
The cat slinks through the door,
fur matted to plump sides,
red against his grey eyes.
Wreaths in January,
mourning the dead berries
and birds lost to the spring.

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