When winter lays its blanket down
On ridge and hollow deep,
And all the world seems hushed and still
As mountains drift to sleep,

A flash of red cuts through the gray,
A living ember bright,
And folks who know the old ways say,
“A loved one’s come tonight.”

They perch upon the fence rails worn,
Or cedar by the lane,
Like little sparks from Heaven’s hearth
Sent down through snow and rain.

My grandma used to point and smile
Whenever one drew near,
And whisper, “That’s a visitor
From someone we hold dear.”

Perhaps it’s Pa come checking in
From where the angels roam,
To see the fields, the creek, the hills,
And guide our hearts back home.

Or maybe it’s a mother’s love
That death could never sever,
Riding on crimson wings to say,
“I’m watching still, forever.”

No sermon carved in marble stone,
No trumpet from above,
Just feathers bright against the cold
And memories wrapped in love.

They do not speak with human words,
Yet somehow hearts can hear
The gentle message that they bring:
“There’s nothing left to fear.”

So when a cardinal stops nearby
And meets your gaze awhile,
You might just feel a touch of Heaven
Within that fleeting smile.

And though we walk these earthly roads
Through sorrow, loss, and pain,
Those scarlet wings remind us that
We’ll meet our own again.