The amaltas* grove is wintering 
Bare branches raised in quiet prayer
The trees in meditation
Their copse a little haven 
From the chill that’s spreading everywhere 
They sit together in the grove 
Yet solitude wraps each one 
In arms soothing, slumbersome
And there resting they will remain
Until the earth wakens them again 

The fallen leaves have long since ceased 
To sit lightly on the ground 
They have sunk into their beds 
Laid down their tawny-russet heads 
Hidden away, they will not be found 
The trees remain skeletal, upright 
Waiting for spring to arrive
But until then they will not sing 
Stirring songs of vital things 
For now the grove is wintering 

Something deep inside of me  
Keens for this state of rest
To step out of life’s lusty choir 
For a while to quietly retire 
From her spring-loaded behest 
I want to hide, to lie low 
Take each hour nice and slow
Hibernate in my little den
Until I can smile at life again 
Like the grove I will be wintering.

* Amaltas: the Indian Laburnum/ Golden Shower tree