Oh, How I miss the winter well,
The naked branch and deaf new void.
With mind that bends to stay with thee,
To whistle amongst the dying tree.

In sheer spite of lacking time,
This hole I've dug will never fault.
I tried to send you dear for help,
Without the strength of bones held close.

I live upon the burrowed chill,
My limbs of black make way to stay.
To feel the numb that never left,
And light go dim but never wake.