He was a winter bird,

Flying far from home.
He stayed with me for warmth;
I didn’t want to let him go.
“Everything is perfect, is it not?”
I say as I hold him close.
“The grass is green and the air is clear
You won’t ever have to deal with snow”
He looks at me with wet eyes,
Within him a fire’s aglow.
“My wings were made to soar”
He cries out as he leaves me alone.
And here I sit and wonder if 

He will return once more.