Dark Woods

Dark are the woods at this hour
As I step onto the pine needle path
Working my way home

Peeking through the glazed snow
Are the remains of an unknown creature
Perhaps hare or squirrel

Too far gone to recognize
I continue, moving quickly but keeping my silence
But wonder

Did you die months before the first snow?
Is it only now you have decided to shed your tomb of white?
Or was your death more recent?

Perhaps by another
Or an act of nature
Was it ordained?

Soon, a new blanket of green will conceal your resting place
Bones will scatter
But I will continue to wonder