In the quiet hush of winter’s breath,
Silent whispers dance upon the frost,
Nature’s canvas painted in stark death,
Where every heartbeat seems almost lost.

Trees stand bare in mournful grace,
Their shadows cast on frozen ground,
Echoes linger in this chilling space,
As life retreats without a sound.

The wind sings songs of ancient lore,
Tales of endings, soft and slow,
Carrying dreams to a distant shore,
Where the sun’s warmth dares not go.

Yet beneath the snow, lies a tender spark,
A promise of life in its gentle hold,
For even in death, there’s a mark,
Of stories yet to unfold.