Such vanity,
the wind remarks
to the old oak and young willow,
in a season when all is loss
and fields are fallow.
Leaves have flown
on the wings of migratory birds
and furred creatures have burrowed
deep into the cold earth,
gravely sleeping under cover of frost
and snow.
The year dies,
resting on its hind legs
upright until the end.
The quiet resignation
of the turning earth,
its rotation of season
to season.
Everything is vanity,
reminds the wind.
All life stills in the end,
cold as stone in the deepest winter,
certain as old oaks stand sturdy
and young willows weep and bend.
(revised 2017)
thecourseofourseasons 
This is so beautiful, Kathleen……..the season of loss, the leaves flown on the wings of birds……the young willows that weep and bend…….gorgeous writing. I hope your winter is going well.