Birds, twigs
in beaks,
busy as a
flurry of snow
in the not-yet Spring.
Dust motes
floating, falling
blowing horizontal,
busy bright
in the light
of the sun.
Yellow tulips
on my windowsill –
Winter holds
to snow bones.
Lengthening days
welcome the flight
of birds, of us.
Others stop here.
Snow, busy busy
covers all who
choose to remain
those who are
not fleet-winged
those who are still,
asleep.
After warmer weather the snow has returned to Cambridge, UK. And this is to those lost from the world this winter, claimed by the season.
Inky Cat's Poems 
Dear Inky
I would like to put a link to this, your snow-luminous poem, on a blog that I am writing. The last few lines of Last Snow, and its dedication, blow me away. Thank you so much for sharing your writing, friend.
I am honoured if a link to Last Snow appears on your blog. Thank you!