The fresh snow fell
covering what had been buried
long ago.
Amidst the laden branches hovering over the cold forest of stones.

North winds whisper
telling of secrets untold and
long kept.
As silent as falling the falling snow
silent tears that have long since
been wept.

Unto the frozen earth they have
been returned.
Once within their fiery eyes
the spark of life
had once burned.

Life is but a season come
and a season gone.
It's how we live that life
that after us
will carry on.




© Morgan West