In the quiet woods where whispers fade,
Beneath the snow’s eternal shade,
A poet’s voice lingers in the air,
As nature weaves its silent prayer.

The roads diverged, now softly close,
His words, like gentle winter’s prose,
Speak of paths both tried and new,
In frosty fields where dreams accrue.

The evening star, a guiding light,
Shines on his journey into night,
Where frost and fire dance as one,
And shadows melt beneath the sun.

In every line, a world reborn,
His legacy, in snow adorned,
A timeless echo, pure and vast,
In whispered winds, his spirit lasts.