The forest,


in repose

no longer green

no longer grows


And whither has he flown

from here

that little bird

who sang such cheer?


See Winter's icy, muffled claw:

so tight its grip

on this land;

so beauteous, the glistening

ice shards borne by

winter-brittle branches.


Hear the silence

Yes, listen

Hear the peace

Yes, listen

Hear the snow falling softly

Yes listen…


The forest,

so silent

in repose

in Winter's grasp

it will not grow

till Spring again

has found her way

and gliding in, on a sunny day

sets Winter's work

to ruin.


©1999 - 2024  Mary Barnett / Moodesigns