In the bleak beauty of winter
The barren branches all appear dead
But I am fine with that
Hovering above me like
Long lost ancestors
Their pale tapered fingers
Wrapping me in their shadows
In my youth, it used to be
The season made me restless
Too much time reflecting, waiting
Now I’m able to appreciate
The relentless blanket of greyness
Muting hints of treasured greatness
Putting us back in our place
Will this be the winter of our existence
Can we find a way to blossom again
Or will the trees take us home
