Chuck Miller

Leaves have fallen; branches are bare.
Winter comes calling; snow in the air.

A familiar friend departs; a new one soon appears.
Perhaps another broken heart; something else to fear.

Yet a strong arm remains, built to hold fast.
Cry out not in vain; true love does last.

Hypnotizing crystals descending; all the same yet unique.
A blanket of white, never-ending, covering frozen ground beneath.

A few flakes chart a different course, seeking a home much higher.
No soft landings in this Year of the Fire Horse; haven or funeral pyre?

Inevitably, spring thaw looms, but it hasn’t come just yet.
Lie on the ground awaiting doom, or rise up despite regret.