Uncultivated, wild they bare their all,
By natures careful hand brought forth with love...

After the storm
has washed away...

With winters silent shroud the forest waits
for formless foggy breath to evanesce...

Memories of winters past flow through the windows...
Of angels crafted in the snow and kisses of the...

Alone it has no purpose.
Crouched there under the lamp in wait...

So she's back on the scene and I see in her face
that she means to take back all the love I've...