The Old Man of Winter
Weak and white and thin,
He falls and digs his nails in,
The earth unforgiving (just for now),
The wind cool.
Stretching and scratching and screaming,
He drags his feet through the evening,
The dirt obliging (for a little while now),
As bald branches creak.
Cold and careful and creeping,
He waters with his weeping,
The frost hesitant (not long now)
As the sun climbs.
Fresh and moist and delicate earth,
He sinks beneath.