| in the heart of winter’s chill...where the frost does bite...the stones stand silent...
etched with tales of night...balanced one upon the other...in a dance so fine...whispers of ancient stories...in a language divine...
through the winds that howl and the cold that bites...they hold their ground...in the darkest nights...gravitation’s anomalies...test of their might...
they stand firm...in the pale moonlight...the sun may rise...with its golden hue...the stones remain, steadfast and true...
their surfaces tell of battles won...of winters past, and summers gone...the deer come forth...to the cedar’s embrace...their gentle steps...
a delicate grace...they feed upon the bounty...in the winter’s hold...breath a mist...in the morning cold...above...crows in the madonna emerald sky...
wings a shadow...as they fly high...they caw a song...of winter’s reign...of the stones below, and the deer’s domain...balance is kept...
in this frozen land...by forces unseen...by nature’s hand...the stones, the deer, the crows in flight...play their part...in the winter’s night...
the seasons turn...and winter fades...the stones will tell...of the roles they played...in the dance of life...in the grip of cold...
their stories etched...in the stone’s hold...listen close...the winter’s song...tales of stones...where they belong...in the balance of nature...
in the cold and sun...their stories live on...when the day is done... |
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