Big, dark grey, craneGrey cloudsTrees shroud-cloaked.Misted morning.North wind wings the crane to a bridge buffer.fender.Stilt-stands on wood.Ruffles feathers hunched close to fragile bones.Tucks neck.North wind will not cease today.Trucks rattle bridge stanchionsWorkers moving,Coated from coldFeeding their families.I watch the lone craneNot movingEnduring.I can give a coat to a worker,But nothing.forThe grey crane.
