Crows frozen in snow chose then
To dip their beaks in bleak white, sipping
Remnants of last night's dripping.

I froze in that snow, chose then
To dip my hand in jean black, wishing
While fishing for my phone they would remain
Frozen.

But those crows were not made to be inlaid
In pixels in my device's exhibition,
And in preparation to capture their appearance,
Black against white,
The moment passed without me.

Crows frozen in snow chose then
To dip their beaks in bleak white, sipping
Remnants of last night's dripping.
As I passed I thought the moment mine,
To take and enjoy whenever.
But those crows chose then to teach me this lesson.