the crows pick bones in the frozen light,

shadows fall, and the silence bites.

a barren mountain whispers through the frost,

a hymn for the trees, their voices lost.

beneath the weight of crows

winter holds the world in a glassy breath,

where the winds hum the songs of death.

the branches ache in their frozen pose,

beneath the weight of the crows.

snow-draped roots stories not told,

of hollowed bark and a grip won’t hold.

the ground hums with the ache of time,

beneath the weight of crows

but the bones remember, the stone still speaks,

in the sighs of the wind and the icy peaks.

a fleeting warmth, a trace in the air,

beneath the weight of crows

the crows take flight, their cries dissolve,

a fleeting riddle we’ll never solve.

the mountain stands, the trees remain,

beneath the weight of crows