a crowd of canaries dance outside my window
blown to and fro in the cold, biting breeze
they spin and flutter
delicate and vibrant
on a cool, grey stage
before falling gently to the ground
their wings lost
bodies lifeless
they turn from yellow
back to brown
and then to mush
frozen into the soil
a quiet burial
with no funeral
instead of gravestones
tree trunks grow at their head
majestic and solitary
they stand
silent
waiting for next year's parade