There you stand, arms outstretched, Gathering the last sun of a season As the cold moves with infinite patience. The crystals of frost will soon haunt you. They spread from dawn to dusk, and infiltrate Your woods at night to decorate with lacy Precision, precision which creates chill and ice. But beneath the earth, you grow and shiver Living like ants on the stored food in your veins. Your tenants, the squirrels follow your lead and nap. Their nests decorating during the winter, A barren decoration, brown, gray, but hopeful. You create the roots of spring while waiting, While knitting through the winter months. Arms outstretched you gather the last rays, knitting, Before the sunset of autumn and the dawn of winter.