A vine in winter weeps
for the loss of blossoms,
for the loss of summer,
for the loss of laughter
like a music's strummer.
A vine in winter weeps
for the wind's soft blowing,
and the song birds calling
while children are playing
in meadows entralling.
A vine in winter weeps
as loneliness engulfs
a snow white and frozen
landscape with dark shadows
of nature forechosen.
A vine in winter weeps,
as a lonely figure
wanders a country lane,
a wayfarer in search
of a balm for his pain.