Silhouettes of branches,
Now fingers stretched across the sky.
A lone bird sits, perched in a broken and dying tree.
Its melancholy song is an expression of its mood-
Winter has, once again, worn out its stay.
Bits of contaminated snow grab hold of the frozen ground;
They represent an eternal death grip.
If only it would melt,
Fully melt,
Then the grass could reach towards the sun.
A lone squirrel wanders among the cold mossy rocks,
Seen only through spaces between trees.
Searching for once hidden treasure,
He suddenly stops and turns to me.
Head cocked,
Our eyes lock.
The same thought passes through our minds:
If only winter would leave.
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