if winter was a berry

buried in the garden, i’d bloom to holly

when the cold rolled around, grown

from leaf-rot and tree-decay / the snow

echoes against birch bark, blankets

the earth’s bed, lays rose roots to rest—

i am the winter’s canopy as much as i am

the autumn’s mushrooms, moss-covered

and nestled under stone / the dormancy

brings a peace most welcomed by bears

and bees, huddling for warmth in the nests—

i roll through soil when the first frost settles,

daffodils lying beneath the woods as they wait

for the familiar face of the sun to return / the holly

thrives at the turn of the seasons when flowers

die back in the woods i wander through.