8Deep in the lonely woods of despair,
Empty trees stand forlorn,
Crippled and crooked as if with a crick,
Their skin pallid and frigid
In the silver of the moon.
Wisps of faint cloud
Appear at every sigh,
Then fade away
Without a trace
At every hope lost.
My feet shuffle on aimlessly,
Numb from wandering in the cold,
For my path is now hidden,
Buried beneath the snow,
And if I cannot find the way,
I may not last the night.
I looked up at the starless heavens,
Save the pale and ashen moon,
Barren branches blocking my view
Of the fragile glow of light.
But then I noticed along the boughs,
The sparkles of crystal tears,
Holding frozen stars fallen from the sky,
Embellishing the shroud of darkness.
I watched as one melted
Into a silver drop,
And saw it fall
Like a marble of diamond,
Forming a fine dimple
In the white blanket below.
One by one they melted,
And one by one they fell,
Each making its own little hole,
Each vanishing the snow.
So closing my eyes,
I leaned back against a tree,
And slipped my hands in my pockets.
I will last the night.
I will wait it through.
For the drops of hope will reveal the path,
And the drops of hope will bring morning.