A bird comes into view. A silly little thing. Chest puffed, all red with glee.

It flits, it flutters. The bird I see. It hops from the frost bitten tree.

Stupid little creature now. It comes close to me.

My hand, I hold out. Cold as ice, white as snow.

The grains of seed, I let them go.

The bird, it chirps. It lets me know.

With thanks it takes them. One by one.

Gentle pecks and ruffling of feathers.

The last morsel, the final seed.

The bird, it reaches for it. It’s final deed.

With a wail and scream, my hand bangs down.

My need is met. The bird is dead.

The silly little thing. Tonight, me, it will have fed.