When the land becomes colder, along with the hearts,
When the woods are alone, deserted in parts,
Only the passing hoot of an owl nearby,
Signals to us the presence of life.
When the sun is away and we bathe in the frost,
The snow melts to form ice, and more heat is lost,
While some lie blissful in sleep, some die altogether,
And some remain in between, searching for shelter.
The flora looks still, though life it still has,
Its burden now more than the whole year cast,
The branches bare to the spine beneath,
No leaves around to form a hooded sheath.
And like all that has come, this too will pass,
Awakening within, the chaos that has,
Tipped the scales to keep balance alive,
To tend to the broken and ensure they survive.
