Desiccated digits delve diligently deeper,
cleaving through the cold air, climbing ever steeper,
cleaving to the life inside refusing to grow meeker.
Long-since evicted leaves that made the struggle weaker
stir on soft and subdued straits –
sailing on a sigh, spoken sans a speaker.
No blossoms left to
fall, but not dead or dying.
Respite the weary.