February fades . . .

A soft-fallen blanket of
Death-white cold
Lies over the land
And the solitary
Buzzard soars in
A futile search
For prey.
Ice-cracked
Loch is no refuge
For winter-stricken
Waterfowl.
Wrapped in
Four extra skins the
Ultimate predator
Slips and slides his way
From central-heated cave
To neon-lit hunting ground,
Littering his route with
Abandoned cars .

(c) 2ndwitch, 28/02/18