Greenery belongs to other seasons;
In winter all the world wears only white,
At least that part that can't, for other reasons,
Simply disappear out of our sight,
Waiting for another spring to come
And raise the seeming dead with warmer breezes.
Winter lacks the other seasons' hum
Of animal activity, which seizes
Attentive ears with every step outside.
Instead the stillness lets the breather hear
Each labored breath. The silence is belied
By footprint in the snow, and yet I fear
They may be older than I credit. Winter
Lets time itself begin to warp and splinter.
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