Ebbing days,
Sun sets faster,
Over Earth as hard as alabaster.

I imagine birds in fluttering flight,
beating the air with swiftness and might.

A welcome digression from this slow decay.
What was once yellow has turned brown, and given way to gray.
Now biology lay.

The bees and bears will all nest,
They best, lest they spoil.
For several months now life returns to a coil.

Like the groundhog, I sit in my lonely hearth,
Dreaming of a sunny spring rebirth.
Looking out from behind the glass,
Wishing for this cold to pass.

Why can't we resign ourselves to winter's storm?
Why do we dream of the coming warm?

Perhaps it's the smell of spring's red roses,
Or perhaps it's a purpose that we've chosen.

For even when all seems forlorn,
Inside we long to be reborn,
Stagnation disimproves our form,
We rebel to becoming frozen.