A Song of Frozen Birds

It was an unexpected chill As the icy north wind Pierced like a shooting needle Through the morning sun So cold That you could almost see it Tumble down the mountainside It was a morning of frozen birds Falling like rain from the sky Off the boughs of trees Dripping down And splashing like colored drops On the rock hard ground As I walked the wintry woods I pictured the ice-cold wind as a brush Painting the woods with drops of color Bird colors of blues, greens and reds That seemed to come alive And sing