The woods were silent,

Heavy with the fallen snow,

Pale from sad tidings.

When no strength remains,

Yet we are faced with walking,

Under broken trees…

Not a single birch,

Could face the whipping winter,

or the mortal cold.

In deep snow chasms,

Rushing as icy water,

Where are you, brother?

I know we were meant,

To grow older together,

Like holiday firs.

Frozen teardrops hang,

At the base of every branch,

In your memory.

Entire mountains,

Brought to their knees before us,

Mourning this loss.

I have to believe,

That somewhere deep underneath,

There can still be joy.

Looking towards the ridge,

Waiting for some kind of sign,

Wanting for answers.

I still hear your voice,

Calling out to me faintly,

When it is quiet.

Reaching an impasse,

My heart takes the blow again,

Agonizing time.

Sometimes no matter,

Wanting or pleading or quiet,

We will have to wait.

Only memories,

Cherished, painful and fleeting,

Roll in and roll out.

I watched a sunrise,

Once burn away a dense fog,

Leaving fresh, sweet dew.

It is fair to wish,

For a gentle spring morning,

In lieu of your smile.