Wind and rain glide along his tongue.
A quick frost diamonds
the January glint of each black eye.
The speckled pudding
of his chest
looms in the low cotoneaster
feeding our humble gaze.
He is swollen with song.
An ecstasy of white sunsets
are target for his notes' artillery.
Undisturbed, through long
nights of Winter,
he out-stares the trudging Hunter
with his belt of stars.
Unfurl music's wind-distracted ribbon!
Let the squall unfold its song!
In the eye of the branch-torn fury
in the leaf-wrecked gust
at the very centre
as the wheel turns
he grips the fluttering score and sings.