A poem of hibernation and the offering of winter’s grace.
the moon waits for me at sunrise slowly melting into the sky each morning I don't walk by the oak holds steady around the corner thick arms open wide patiently she waits for the next embrace the fields hold their breath listening for my footfall the birds whistle and chirp my name is in their call but my door remains closed to the world the sun climbs high without seeing my face and like a flower that doesn't bloom until springtime I am offered winter's grace
