In the woods
There is always the deadfall —
The trees that have fallen into their end —
A silent Winter death on the edge of the chirping Spring.
Returning to earth,
Demise in soil and dry moss,
A soft and sweet falling into eversleep —
[Only if you’re not around to hear it]
Back into the biomass —
Its place of birth.
You’ll always find one,
And you don’t even have to look very far.
Its death is now life.
*** Lighten up, Doll Face. It’s just a season. ***
*** Ugh…. ***