A midwinters walk.

In torsoes bared by winters feel

revealing each identity

in postures proud a standing crowd

of Hazel, Ash and Willow trees

emerge as from the winters depth

upon the solstice misty cloud

to know that light will soon return

unless the clock is disavowed.

In shrouded mist the ghostly forms

of hedges rough, allowed to rise

thru druids breath we notice death

and see is thru a fogs disguise.

The darkened mass of Holly sheen

reflects the light of absence lost

whilst Ivy dons an overcoat

to warm the Ash with little cost.

Such silhouettes return the hope

deciduous, and ever true

in grace we notice dormancy

and trust that nature will renew

the passage and the path ahead

for each of us that waits in turn

to honour all we fail to know

forgetting what we need to learn.