To be young is to feel the grass growing beneath your feet 

And wander through the woods aimlessly 

To see the little, quiet things unnoticed by all else 

And say, 

My heart breaks

For every snowflake

That twirls down,

Solitary

Amongst a gray sky

It looks lonely, you see

Not as if I don’t know how that feels.

A tree is downed in the forest

It appears as a skeletal hand resting upon the snow covered floor

Brown beneath, like ivory rotting away as it ages 

And pure white on top, bone bleached by the sun.