Little Deaths and First Snows

Last leaves of branches
let go, flutter to frosted grasses--

"We cannot hold on, any longer, and
so bid you, adieu!"

Downcast heads of roses of trellis, and nightingales pecking for seeds, mourn
as the sun turns its back
on December.

On cue, skies gray
and Earth holds its breath
closing eyes and mouths
of woodland life--

"Ah, to slumber, with blankets of moss;
we shall see you once again!"

Snowflakes like tears
from cold clouds
step out and tumble, slowly
in silence.