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Cold Pines
Preserved
as my heart.
Frosted fractals.
Laying here as snow surrounds me.
The birds are finally free.
The animals huddle close together.
Some young.
Some old.
Death is inevitable for these creatures.
Some just are unable to hold specific features.
What never dies are these pines.
Whether they look divine
or not.
These trees have fought.
Forever living.
They have been giving.
Immortal as can be.
There will always be seed.
Forever green.
Pristine.
-Snow that flutters down like feathers