From The Book Of Winter Poem by Salvatore Ala

1
Mid March and I count four robins and a woodpecker
And yesterday I heard a cardinal in full voice.
No one knows how heavy the pages of winter are
But it is the birds that fly out of the last.

2
Nothing better than this anonymity.
All my observations are like a mirror
In which I can celebrate nature in myself.

3
Today the rain turned into snow
And back into rain so subtly
That no one seemed to notice
The fragile glass work of the moment.