Industry of bees retires within the hive.
Beavers rest within safety of their lodge.
Only nimble deer and rabbit leave their print—
Starvation clarifies cold hungry scent.
Trees have lost their leaves
As what was green
Now lies buried under frosty white.
All appears to wither but the Moon at night.
No longer do flocks of birds
Form patterns in the sky—
Nature endures, in private always knows
Joy of fading light comes with atmosphere of rose.
Still, I know within dark soul of Earth
Hidden labors never cease,
Prepares in silence for new spring house,
Waiting patiently like quiet hopeful mouse.