Dear Editor,

ThenThe winter snows and ice had passed.Some signs of spring were here at lastHe watched through clear unfrosted paneTo see the whirring wings again-Watching for the hummingbirdThe nectar mixedthe feeders hungA robin's song at last was sung.He rocked there in his favorite chairWhere flower scents now filled the air-Waiting for the hummingbirdWith ruby throatAnd whirring wingsIt came one dayWhat joy it bringsThe hummingbirdNowIt's empty now-his favorite chairRocked only by the soft spring air.It may have known he wasn't hereThe hummer didn't come this year.No hummingbirdI pray here now and I'm alonePat's name is etched upon the stoneA shadow skims across the word-A HummingbirdJacque PatrickTamaqua