Gossamer threads may break to the touch,
But they seem to linger on your skin
Somehow the blood of the past winter
Seeps through the walls as they cave in

The fox will run away from the stream,
Once his reflection is no longer entertaining
How is it that the perfect picture of serenity
Would require such terrible restraining

Some creatures would rather hide in trees instead,
But it is only their predestined nature
The birds especially,
Would only see solid ground as an anchor

I still can’t make sense of this,
But something about it feels right
And so the robin keeps its distance,
Safely watching me from the other side