In the quiet hush of winter’s breath,
When snowflakes dance on icy streams,
We remember a voice now laid to rest,
A poet’s dreams woven in moonlit beams.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
Where once he wandered, paths unknown,
Now in eternal slumber, he does sleep,
Beneath the stars, his spirit flown.

His words, like frost on morning’s dew,
Capture moments, both soft and stark,
Echoes of a life both old and new,
Whispering secrets in the dark.

As we tread the paths he once did take,
We honor the legacy he left behind,
In nature’s beauty, for his sake,
The poet’s soul, forever enshrined.