Sometimes at night I hear small birds lament. br Dark notes that seem to second moon's descent. br Cold is the color of a deep regret, br An etude perfected by winterset. br br The world was music and it turned us round. br Stirred by the subtle atmospheric sound, br You gently sketched a snowflake on my face br Which shall be mine till light has left this place. br br Such solace has the power to outlast time, br To lock a small bird's elegy in rhyme. br Somewhere beyond the January mist, br The magic of our landscape still exists.