I emerged in winter bright and proud.
Tumbled the skies and sang out loud.
And flew from frozen bush to tree.
In search of others, just like me.
But never did that other I find.
It seemed I was a unique kind.
Growing hungry soon, I searched a rose.
But none had grown, I now suppose.
Perhaps the flowers had once been.
There was not one now to be seen.
Just sheets of ice and endless white.
In darker days and endless night.
And soon I realised my fate.
I’m born too early or too late.
A summer creature, born in winter.
To live and die, but never bitter.