Gray is the season that withers

Blossoms dulled by satin frost

How they sadly fall

Cruel chill, it breaks them all

Rest, rest immortal doves

While winter feigns treasures lost

Crystal brooks still as dusk

Mirror figures warm at heart

Oaks over icy knolls

Sprawling old souls

Flutter, flutter leafless arches

For that single spark of life to start

Blushing through frozen woods

Morning hints at splendor, frail

A starling in the snow

Sleeping on her bough

Wake, wake feathered angel

Sing sweet trills of the nightingale

~ Luther Seahand ~