The Lone Crane

Under western skies on a winter's day
I came upon the sight
Of a snowy-colored crane
Before the coming of the rain.
 He turned and stood on graceful leg
 To face me in watchful composure
 His stance was still, a painter's pose
 In soundless majesty he froze.
I thought him lost or fallen
To pillage city foliage green
Such bird as this would not abide
Precariously by a freeway side.
 I picture him and the coming spring
 My sheltering thoughts have flown him home
 While basking with fellows in common bond
 He eats savory fish in some golden pond.