Winter's mask is hung on the trees,
As the sun goes early.
The greens turning to infinite blacks,
With the soaking damp night,
Coming through my pockets quickly,
Rippling cold onto my skin.
Being lost in the forest,
Comes with a terror that life is all over,
And then a resigned heart,
Meeting its end,
Stumbling forever, without sustenance.
Then a sudden flicker, just once and very quick.
So that I am not sure of the light.
I drift closer, too afraid to hope,
But there is a gleam, dull as phosphor.
The void of the trees opens,
So that there you are.
With the candle showing your smile,
And the wisdom in your eyes.
Your face comes close,
And I am safe.