Sliding on hard and icy skies                    A bird of springtime plies                  The air whose cold forebodes              A winter with its building breeze.        The bird in elegant unease Heads southward, slow as feet on unclear roads.                                                                                     All warmth to it's a distant myth.        No friend to shiver with,        No guide but weary eyes,    It's making one last-ditch attempt    Before December's cold contempt Kills this procrastinator of the skies.