Drifters

A falcon shared his lofty station with a crow
Above the landscape blanketed with snow
And squawked about the lack of decent prey,
The crow just cocked his head now go away
He thought while searching for some scraps
The wintry wind would blow his way perhaps
But both endured a barren lapse,
Their hunger, for the nonce, kept under wing
Determined to survive until the spring.